So without much fanfare or celebration, I woke to see the sun peeping through a gap in my thick green check curtains, .I lay there eyes blinking, deciding on my next fabulous course of action, do I get up and visit the bathroom or lay there another hour or three hoping to drift back off to sleep, the bathroom won of course, it invariably does.

After that excitement, I plodded out to my kitchen, the bright red kettle sat just waiting for me ….Coffee my brain screams !!!!!!!, You need coffee, !!!! We need coffee now or I refuse to work, I laugh and say what’s new ….But i humour my sleep addled brain as one does when you just wake up….I love that click and then the sound, as it slowly works it’s way up to boil . I look about me as I wait, my kitchen,s clean , it always is, I bearly have the energy to mess it up let alone cook.

I make my first coffee of the day and crawl back to bed with it, I can no longer smell that delicious nutty aroma, since Covid I can’t smell much really , but least now I can taste it, savour it , …it’s one of the few good things Covid left behind, after I lost my sense of taste for a week , I never took it for granted again, You ever drank hot water , because that’s how coffee tasted back then , of hot nothingness.I lay watching something on Britbox, sipping my hot mug of caffeine goodness hoping uselessly that it will travel around my sleep fuddled lobes of brain and shake them awake, I do this every day, but every day it fails, I need something stronger I think to myself , curling under my thick soft fleece blanket( like a bomb or Dyno Rod)

My stomach flirts tentatively with hunger, and as quickly as it arrives, it goe,s , leaving in its wake nausea, ( I hate that) yeah I know no one likes feeling sick, but I really can’t abide it, ….I breath heavily trying to watch my tablet for distraction, but even Helen Mirren puffing and panting over some beautiful young man isn’t doing that , just makes me miss Jesse, Normally passes with an hour or so, I lay just breathing and waiting for it to disappear or for me to drift back off to sleep, either is preferable to that feeling high up in my chest already threatening to choke me and the sweat dripping down my back, that in its turn irritate,s the prickly rash covering my back and arms.

My heads thumping, and I turn this way and that trying to get comfortable, as I do I long for the days , I would wake, dive in the Shower , grab a bottle of water and walk for miles, now I just lay here exhausted without even doing anything. My chest is tight, wheezy and it burns as I take uneven breaths, it’s been a year on the 12th of March and there will be no celebrations, no large cake and candles, Just another day surviving the best I can. I used to wonder dreamily when I was cleaning house for the sixth time that day or at work what it would be like to be able to just lay in bed, you know not doing anything, maybe watch tv or read, but just resting, …..well now I know and it’s not the life for me or the fun filled lazy days I imagined at all….

Despite feeling ill , I’m perpetually bored , if brain fog had,nt done so already I swear boredom would have rotted my brain, …nothing I can do about it, just walking the few paces from the toilet to the kitchen had me sit on my sofa till I had recovered , each day, hour , minute upon minute brings a new wave of symptoms, each day I fight, what I’m fighting goodness only knows , but involuntarily my body takes up the battle , aided by a whole dispensary of vitamins, pain meds , things to speed my metabolism up , things to slow my racing heart down, a veritable rainbow of medication , this is just another day in my battle , when it ends who knows , because that little gem is yet to be determined.

Back nearly two weeks ago now,… I think I hit a crisis point, as my seventh month approached fast, I lay on my bed, sun streaming in through the door that,s nearly always opened out onto the tiny pathed patio,.warm air blowing in softly playing with the voile curtains across my patio door, far off in the distance I could hear children squealing with delight at being outside in the early evening with their friends, their mothers chatting and occasionally calling to one of the over excitable kids,

As this reached my ears, I remembered, my own three children, their friends all outside running about, with that never ending exuberance that only the young have, I would sit outside with one or another of the mum,s so that the other,s could get on with that days chores, .It only seems like a few moments ago,And Often we would all gather, sat out as the sun glowed red in its coral streaked sky, just sharing time until we went in to get the children ready for bed that night,but that was then

I wondered how would it be now, in this strange new world of ours, a world where in place of the huddled companionship of yesteryear, we would have been sat six feet apart, not sharing sweets, cans of drink, not in a huddle whispering some juicy nugget of information into the others ear..no now we would have been six feet apart, And not only that making sure our children followed suit, ….can you imagine keeping upwards of fifteen kids at a distance from one another?, I know I cant.

But it may have been different, difficult even but I would have done it, why? Because i am laying on my bed, listening to life going on around me, And I don’t feel part of it anymore….I am on month seven now, And all the symptoms I spoke about a while back are all still not only there, but they are getting no better,

Only i belong to a group now, A group with hundreds, if indeed not thousands of fellow sufferers, .We share our frustrations, our pain, our worries and of course tears, …it’s hard knowing we are all in our separate little worlds, feeling this sick, this afraid and you can’t reach out and touch one another, And that’s a big thing for us, Touch!, Because of course none of us can know the touch of a hand, a hug, even someone rubbing your arm, we are totally alone in our misery, …I crave human contact, I lay here afraid of what may be and there’s no one to hug me, I fall asleep some nights quite frankly not knowing if I will wake, my body is being over taken by this viral invasion,and no one knows how to stop it.

My liver counts sky high, that causes all kinds of issues and pain, I struggle to breathe some nights, wheeze and have this awful whistling thing going on in my chest, my nose hasn’t been clear since it all began way back in March, headaches are my norm, as is the on off soaring temperature,s, my stomachs so bad I’ve not risked excursions, even to local shops, a lot of nights I lay alone and scared,…… what’s even worse is Jesse is still there on that phone and thank goodness as it gives me a modicum of peace of mind, my only human interaction, but I know full well if we were together I still wouldn’t have that touch, that hug, those arms about me making things right, if something were to happen I would have not known human contact in months, And I’m not alone in that, my fellow long haulers are in the same boat… Wanting so badly to know warmth of a touch, yet wanting to keep those we love and care about safe…

Your now thinking but your alive right and it can’t be that bad!,can it?, Yes it can, we all share this utter frustration of never the ending exhaustion, I don’t mean tiredness, I mean the battery is empty, there’s nothing, our bodies are depleted, there’s no reserves, you just lay staring into space, because any form of movement is too draining,, And if you do find an ounce of strength from somewhere it’s quickly sapped,…. I had to shower today, why had to? Because I didn’t have the energy to wash, I stood for as long as I could, propped up against the cool glass of the shower cubicle, letting the warm water run over me, no strength to wash my hair, just standing until it became hard to breathe, so I bent over from the pain in my chest and dragged breathes up, when I recovered slightly I turned off the water and went and sat on the toilet, just breathing,I felt wrung out, and if I could have mustered the strength i would have cried but years take strength and I was used up, … numerous bathroom trips the day before had literally taken any energy I had had left, a shocking headache, my eyes were blurred which is the other other norm for me now, I just sat, angry at the injustice and pain of this,

I and my fellow long haulers don’t deserve this, no one ever does, no one should go through this living death, I’m not exaggerating in my description of it either, I’ve laid many nights begging my god, any god not to allow me to wake, but I do, And it’s then I remember I’ve a family, I have Jesse and I dragged this body that’s fought a whole nother day to survive out from under my covers, there i begin that day, most of it is spent laying back down again between the odd chore I have managed, …what’s worse with this is there’s so many people out there not willing to believe us, not wanting to hear, not wanting to listen, And all most of us want to do is protect you from this blooming plague, that’s eating away at us, I’ve hidden away seven months now, i,m frightened, it’s a living nightmare at the thought I might pass this on, what if I did ? What if it killed someone? A mother, father, a child, ….so I hide away, half of me scared at seeing anyone, the other half wanting to reach out and make contact..with someone, anyone…

The amount of people still coming on our help page, telling struggling people, that their struggle is a lie, a hoax, made up and we are basically lazy, some have just lost loved ones, and come on for some solace, understanding, from those who know, understand, just to have to read that, others of us are struggling to get through that day, knowing we are being used as the butt of a jokes, it’s cruel, it’s shameful and makes this harder,. We are alone folks and those same people doubting our fight, shun us, won’t come near us, it’s hypocritical, and frustrating, because we understand your fears, who wouldn’t, you would have to be incredibly stupid not to fear this, but these same folks shake their fists about their rights not to wear a mask outside, want to go about their days as before, let’s all get back to normal, yet expect us to stay locked away, I’m willing , more than willing to do this, even if it’s another seven months, But it’s down to us all, each and every one, it’s all our fight, I don’t want wake again tomorrow, reading another wives heartbreak as she describes not being at her husband’s side holding his hand as he slips away, reading mothers fears as their children grow sick and they don’t know who to turn too…worse I don’t want to have to beg a doctor for help, to see me, my first in all these months, because I followed the rules, read the guidelines, only to be offered antidepressants because they have no clue what else to do for me… You bet I’m depressed, you bet I’m fearful, because each day i,m in the fight of my life, And not only do I fight a long haul of a battle, it’s an invisible foe, and dear Corona doesn’t fight clean, it’s plays dirty, So if this message reaches one, if one washed their hands more, wears a mask, looks after themselves better then I’m happy, it’s not just flu, it’s not made up, this things a living nightmare and when you wake it’s still there, look after you, look after each other, remember your all unique, a one off and so precious xx

There’s a Thomas the tank engine book, in which, the story goes, there’s a small engine (possibly the Thomas himself, I’m not sure) trying to pull several long carriages up hill. At first he looks at the bill with trepidation and disbelief, frowning that he cant possibly conquer what, to him, looks like a never ending mountain. He shouts in protest ‘I can’t do it, I can’t do it’, over and over. The book then uses the word fat. I prefer the words jolly or cheerfully chubby. Controller comes along and comforts his upset little friend saying ‘use the words to yourself: I think I can, I think I can‘. The already red-faced and tired little engine, with all his strength, powers up the hill. He chuffed loudly, groaned, but pulled his heavy load up the steep path to the very top, all the while using his new mantra: ‘I think I can, I think I can, I think I can‘… And of course does!

I hate Thomas the blooming tank engine!!! Why? Because 1) I once got a beating for touching my elder brother’s train set. I was lying on the floor where he left it, having a rare old game of plastic cowboys running after a speeding wind up train, shouting yee har!!!!!!!!! as their open mouthed steeds galloped beside the black engine. It was the best game ever, until I felt the lash of the tomato cane across the backs of my bare legs as I lay on my tummy playing happily, and 2) I lived for many years with someone obsessed by them. Drove me to nearly pulling my hair out! That said, I remember the story of Thomas and his heavy load well. (Whyyyyy? Because it’s how I feel right now.)

I’m on month five of recovery from Corona virus, or Corvid 19, depending what you wish to call it, ( I want to call it every bloody name I can think of, and some, I’m sure, I can come up with later). The actual first few weeks were mild: high temp ( which I think I told you in my other post was, to me, a blessing. I actually felt warm in this icy bedroom of mine for two whole weeks. LOL), hot uncomfortable throat though not painful, headaches that lasted for days and nights but, again, doable, shivers ( well hell I’d been doing those for months)… all in all I didn’t feel too bad in all honesty. But then, after a fairly okay week in which I thought I had recovered, it hit me like a truck going 100 mile an hour… I didn’t see that coming!

My already auto-immune-deficient body just struggled to cope. All I had strength for was to lay upon my bed… that and heave myself up and down the stairs to the bathroom. Nothing interested me. I hurt in every joint, every muscle. Breathing from time to time became wheezy and hard going. The ability to breathe is highly recommended, so I stuck at it. My head no longer just ached, but now pulsed with pain behind each eye. And don’t ask what delights befell upon my already troubled stomach, but it involved racing this pained carcass up and down the stairs many times daily to try and make it to the bathroom in time before it… (No. Don’t askkkk!) well, you know, without the goary details. With all this goes nausea, acid reflux, sounds emitted from one end or another, constant cramps, total lack of appetite, malaise, dehydration, hair loss, vision issues and just feeling like I wanted to lay and let the world happen about me.

Believe me, I know pain. It’s a dear old friend of mine from a very young age, and I can do it well, without much ado, fuss or bother and have. But it’s not the pain that hurts, like as a child when I tried desperately to get mum or dad to believe I hurt somewhere, for them only to shrug ohhhh it’s nothing!, it’s just growing pain. Go away. Don’t be a bother. But it was very real to me. It was not only real, it was every joint in my body dislocated and left it’s socket. I had sickening migraines from babyhood, stomach issues, bladder issues, chest pain and this is just some of it. I grit my teeth hard as I’m doing right now and got on with it, (I was being a trooper as they say) no one believing me until I was in my late thirties when I had an issue. A random physio looked at my oddly shaped joints and announced ‘ohhhh you have HMS!‘ (Well hallelujah and pass the collection plate!) I could have and did later go home and cry. Here I was, someone finally believing me about my pain. There was an answer to a million questions my body was attacking itself. And now I knew what deep down I had known all along: I wasn’t lazy, I wasn’t workshy… far from it. I was doing my very best while in extreme pain! It has a name, my foe, my invisible enemy, but although I knew my enemy’s name now and knew of it’s existence, to the outside world, I looked healthy, looked ‘normal‘. I was just funny Treez… lazy, a bit lacking in brain function, but on the whole, okay. Hmmm. My own mother just raised her shoulders and said ‘that’s nothing‘.

It’s just a nothing that affects every cell in your body, your heart, your liver, kidneys, bowels, bladder. Your body works against you. I’ve had illness so long now I can’t remember ever feeling healthy. LOL Add to this anxiety, depression, and mental health… it’s wonderful, a perfect storm. ( I jest here folks with my black humour.) I always jest. It’s how I get through. But, because I do, don’t think I’m not feeling that usual daily pain of HMS life. Then add on nobody but nobody believing the agony you go through because, hey! you look well so you must be…..right?

Hell no! I’m going through torment inside daily, and what makes it worse is I was raised to maintain a lie. My mother would mock my pain. I think she thought if she didn’t believe her child, of course it wasn’t happening… it didn’t exist!!!!!!! I was just clumsy. I fell over a lot. The headaches were made up, the pain in my joints as I said were just growing pain,s, that ache in my chest likewise. But it wasn’t the pain that hurt though, folks, it’s not being believed, it’s teachers making my painful body run in PE, laughing at my odd gait and pointing. As I said, I can do pain; I’ve known nothing else. But when I give you all I have and I’m shutting down mentally from exhaustion,… still no one believes the pain I’m in. I want to scream, if only I could raise the energy. I want to shake you and say ‘I can’t do this right now, I’m tired let me just be, please! I beg you let me damn well lay here and get my breath!’ I’m fighting so much right now. Why all this you ask? Because the long term side effects of having Corona/Corvid isn’t believed either. It’s a silent illness that invades and is destructive… what’s worse, I hate myself for not being able to move that day. I feel all you can lay your minds to call me and worse, I feel a bloody burden, a burden on society, my loved ones, those I try to protect from how I feel deep inside with a mask. When they ask, I lie. I lie because I don’t want to bore or upset them by a constant dialogue of illness. I don’t want to worry them, I just want to portray that jolly old Treez whose doing okay… the Treez that’s a laugh.

This week alone I had to go about life as if I was okay and for a few days I lied like a bloody politician. Hell, you would vote for me! But then I paid fully. I pushed my body to do just what, to you, is trivial… a nonsense thing… but to me it was Herculean. Today I woke after a restless night, my body aching, breathless, head ready to explode and I’m tired… I’m tired before the day’s begun. I wash, sat on the bath with cool water, gingerly brushing my teeth, trying to avoid the mouth full of ulcers. I dread the day ahead, the long uncomfortable day of not being believed once more, as I spray my welt-and-rash-covered body. The phrase I started with goes through my head as I slip on my big baggy shirt: I think I can, I think I can, I think I can… right???????

Sorry but every single time I hear the words Corona Virus, for some unexplained reason only known to my unique brain, the Macarena song goes off in my head. Now this isn’t good because Facebook, the news, everything, is full of the Macarena (I mean the virus). shakes head I’m so sick of that blooming song. But not only the song, I, too, as it turns out am sick.

Way back in March, I went out on one of my rare occasional small jaunts to a cafe where I was to meet up with my friend for coffee. Nothing too remarkable. But while I was there I got more than just coffee… my friend had, in fairness, pre-warned me she had a slight head cold. I thought nothing of it. (But yeah, now in hind sight, I really should have. I admit I was taking risks.) As you know, I have HMS (nooooo… no not a ship, but Hyper Mobility Syndrome.) It effects the whole body and weakens my immune system. It’s been said in the past I don’t always stop to think and here’s the evidence. sighs…

But, in my defense, back in March, Coronavirus aka Corvid 19 (here goes that song again🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶) was in its infancy and wasn’t supposed to have hit my little corner of England. Now that said, my son, who’s a strapping, healthy man, was indeed knocked on his back over Christmas with something akin to flu. Nothing, but nothing keeps him down. He’s rarely, if ever, sick. But I digress. Within 24 hours my nose became stuffed, my throat hot and this room (which is normally icy cold and damp 24/7 even in mid summer months) suddenly felt not only warm but hot hot hot🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶! (another song dammit!) I’m sat in vests and shorts window open.

Still, just thinking it was a nothing, I carried on regardless. A trifle head cold was my thinking. I drank plenty of fluids though and took painkillers, all these things we are advised through media to do. I can’t say I felt really sick, just kind of off… do you know what I mean? I didn’t want to eat much, also kind of swung from sleeping for absolutely hours, only waking to take more meds and swigs of icy water, to nothing… just laying awake staring at my phone. There my love lay sleeping or if not I was just looking up at the ceiling. (must get to those cobwebs) As it and I progressed, I developed a slight dry cough, head-achy, all the usual suspects of a head-cold, but still I felt kind of okay. Within myself though I can’t make my mind up if the raging stomach issues were my IBS flaring or symptoms. Either way every two to three days I spent a wonderful day running up and down the stairs to the bathroom, not easy when you’re burning up.

After two weeks I started to improve and thought once again (in total denial) yeah, it was only a head cold. (I will say I have put myself in isolation since the beginning of March, and I’m so glad I did.) I began to feel better as the days went on. I had a little more energy and actually began to feel hungry. Then came the announcement that all of us would be on a lock-down. I was already there so no worries but for the fact that getting food was horrendous. More than once Jesse had to step in to make sure I ate. I wasn’t really bothered myself… my mood sinking fast. About the beginning of April I had to go out to pick up my medication from our local chemists. The new dawn saw new rules… 6 ft apart and stand in line outside the shops, chemists, etc. Now it’s the beginning of April remember, and a cold chilled morn to boot. As I walked down to the chemists, it began to rain.

I’m looking about me. Everyone’s got coats, scarves, hats on… I’m standing outside as if it’s summer, getting some rather peculiar stares from my fellow queue-ees, wearing a short sleeve t-shirt, thin trousers and the sweat is still making its way in big droplets down my back. I stood that day in the rain 3-quarters of an hour. I felt sick, couldn’t breath and my head swam. By the time I got in there and was seen, I was ready to fall on the floor. I ached, hurt and felt worse than I had in the weeks before. I grabbed my meds from a perplexed chemist and ran almost out of the door, struggling to get the blooming doors open, I was that distressed. By the time I did reach home I was struggling to breath at all, soaked through to my skin and feeling so faint.

Each time I went out, even just those few steps from home, it was repeated. Not only when I go out, it seems, but weekly the symptoms return with a vengence. Not only do they return (like that one annoying visitor you can’t hide behind the sofa from) but they are far worse than the actual virus itself. I still had the soaring temps, stuffy nose, cough, the most horrendous headaches… and let’s not forget the breathlessness. I’m not going with what my stomach does! (it ain’t pretty) This week in question was one of the worst times I’ve had… three days of not keeping anything other than water in my stomach, cramps, headaches, and a malaise like I can’t begin to describe. I lay on Tuesday night praying the pain meds would kick in so I could sleep. I just wanted to get out of my betraying body to rest.

I wanted to sleep for hours, days, to get out of my pain, tiredness, but then tiredness doesn’t cover it. Exhaustion neither. Nothing does or ever can, even reaching to get my tablet, phone or anything was too much effort, so I lay there just feeling drained and emotional… I wanted to curl into my pillow and sob but couldn’t. Strength failed me. When I washed it felt like I had run a marathon. I leaned against the sink for support, splashing cool water over my hot face. Showering is a route march and I hate it, can’t stand the having to lay about for over an hour after. And I can only thank the Lord for microwave dinners. (for in truth I wouldn’t eat at all without them) My body’s tired of fighting now and shows it by breaking out in rashes, welts… my HMS is worse than ever and on Tuesday night, as I lay in my bed, my world falling apart, I looked across at Jesse sleeping soundly and I was scared. For the first time really scared because I longed to be curled up in his arms and him to make things alright as only he can. Lying here praying I would just sleep and get away from all this pain, what scared me most, folks, was I wouldn’t wake! I’ve fought so much now, so hard, so long.

I’m too tired to fight this. It wrecks my body over and over weekly and the fight’s gone. But if one good thing can come of all this it’s to be careful. Don’t think like I did in the very beginning. ‘Oh it’s only flu, it’s just a cold, I’ve had many and will be fine‘ Well I’m not fine… far from fine. And when I’m going to be is anyone’s guess now. This from one who’s battled cancer, heart disease, HMS, and many other illnesses. This is my hardest battle yet, simply because it’s never ever over. So look after yourselves, your loved ones, each other, because you’re precious, you’re wonderful and there’s always only ever going to be one of you. Do whatever it takes to avoid getting this. Do what it takes to stay safe. Remember, you are loved by someone and they want you with them. Stay well, my friends xx

All my life I’ve been told to ‘hush, be quiet Treez. You’re too loud, have nothing to say, too stupid‘… These words are a constant, like Tuesday following Monday, my thirst for coffee when I wake up, eggs and bacon… ‘shut up’ and ‘Theresa’ just go together… until recently, though, thanks to some close loved ones I started to believe I did indeed actually have a voice. Albeit, at times, excitable, I could, in fact, speak mind.

And I was excited. Words battled in my head to be heard. Years of feeling insignificant, in the shadow of others, now left and in its place slowly came a new person, one who, okay, maybe lacked eloquence, polish… never would have the gift of a wordsmith, but through poetry and the medium of writing I at last found a voice, an outlet I had hungered so long for.

I do know my spoken voice is loud and can be harsh, brash even. My fiance, who’s slightly deaf from years playing in a band, can hear me in another state. LOL There’s nothing I can do about it… I was born this way. It got far worse due to thyroid issues and other ill health but I do try to be as quiet as I possibly can. But when I’m nervous, anxiety-ridden, upset, or just plain excited, words tumble from my mouth with gay abandon like little birds flying free 😁.

I hate it if I’m honest. (No, really I do.) In fact, from childhood at times I prayed for that quiet feminine whisper of a voice, even to the point for the longest time that I would lose my voice permanent. Stupid, I know, but I want to fit in… I wanted so to be normal, whatever that may be. What I want so much is to be like YOU, dear reader! As I said in the beginning, the words ‘be quiet!‘ are not new to me. But each time I hear them I go back, way back to a parent spitting as she bellowed ‘Shut up Theresa! No one wants to hear what you have to say!‘ Siblings laughing if I voiced an opinion, encouraged by the other adults in my family.

So I never ventured an opinion again. Whenever I spoke it was about the weather, TV, a book I read… safe topics. I smiled, laughed, but inside my head was a whirlpool of words, clambering over each other to be heard. Still I held them in. As I did they swirled around, festered. If I sat quietly I heard them screaming for a voice, these mixed with shouting voices of those that had filled my ears with ugliness and hate. So if I speak too much this was and is the reason… it’s to hush the din in my head, quiet the shouting of my long ago bullies that threaten to swallow me up in their blackness.

Over months now a few have encouraged me to open my heart, tell my truths, not fear reprisals, be brave, let the beaten child within escape and have her voice. It’s not been easy because I revert back to her easily and crawl into that little ball when I hear a raised voice or I feel I’m being mocked. (This is left over from my past.) But thanks Jesse I grew braver, more forthcoming. With him came poetry and a love of writing.

But just as steady as I grew, there’s some who, to be fair to them, do not know of my history and the pit I’m trying so hard to climb out from. And again, whether they know it or not, their words have destroyed months of hard work. Once more I’ve reverted to the little child hiding in a cold, hard-floored landing of my childhood home, no bigger than 5′ by 5’… silent, so as not to cause a fuss or draw attention until my dad came home and I was safe from the lash of a tongue or my mother’s cane.

One such time was Wednesday. I can’t go into detail, but again someone flew into a rage at me. In my new found shaky confidence I tried so hard to stand my corner as I’m being encouraged to do, but the voice of authority overrode, silenced, did not give me chance, and much to my hurt and anger the little girl again took over. She wanted to scream of the injustice! Even in her fear, she wanted a voice. She knew the pains I had taken, the fake courage I had tried to summon up, knew of the illness I suffered through sheer terror of the situation I was going through.

Also the nights I laid awake reliving years of heartache and abuse so I would have the information ready, the cold sweats of the night terrors while I slept, racing heart, knotted stomach not able to keep in food, I felt weak before but I clawed every last scrap of energy and courage I could for that day, knowing it was going to be torture , and within minutes I was unfairly silenced… wrongly as it happens. But the muttered words ‘I’m sorry‘ don’t take away the me that crumbled, the me again silenced, my years of pain, my years of abuse and being used. Words that I never wanted to utter in the first place once more, in split seconds, buried forever in my head. And quite frankly that’s where I want them to stay. I was crushed in those few words.

So what now? I’m too tired to cope. I had used all I had to get there, to do this one thing to protect me, and once again I’m silenced and in hiding. I have no voice… it was taken away, robbed, and I’m using what little energy I have left to get me through another day.

It’s been a whole week again since I last braved leaving my cell ( I mean home)… I live in a approximately 12 by 12 room. Recovering Agoraphobic, which for those that are not in the know what that is, brief description: it’s not the fear as many have lead us to believe of wide open spaces, it is actually a mixture of a thousand fears. Imagine if you will getting huge electric shocks every time you left your front door. Even going up to it, come to that. Pretty soon you wouldn’t go near that door for fear of that shock, pain, just the thought of it. Then you stop trying. Plus you really do believe you’re going to die at any moment. Adrenaline courses through your veins, your heart races, miss-beats… you can’t breath, your head swims, eyes go out of focus, you body drips in sweat or you’re freezing cold, sometimes both. You feel you will vomit or, worse, you need the toilet right then and there. It will brook no argument. Imagine all this and ten times worse. I’ve barely touched on it.

But after twenty five years, countless failed attempts and so much hard work, I did it! I swear at times I thought I couldn’t and nearly gave in, then for roughly about 18 months I was free once again. Not only that… I also survived 35 years of hell in a controlled marriage. Many said how brave I was, how amazing. I didn’t think I did anything spectacular. If anything, far from it. I thought I should have gotten over it earlier. I was angry, frustrated, bitter there for a while, not only with myself but those who didn’t seek help for me. And this just wasn’t, isn’t me. I sent all these emotions packing many years ago, but I felt I had allowed myself to be locked up, chained… my life wasted, frittered away so easily by someone who just wanted a lackey, a servant, power over another, as I was the only point of control in his life. And when I say ‘control’, I don’t say this lightly. My every move was mapped out. I was allowed privileges, I wasn’t allowed life.

But 18 months ago I took those important steps to freedom and it was hard, arduous, and, at times, I wanted to back out. Many times it was just too hard. I didn’t have the strength, the conviction. I just was too scared to fight this plus other things going on around me. It felt like I was taking on the world and its dog. I left everything behind… all I had known, all I cared about. And here I was living this scary new life with just one thing holding me up: love! Two people’s support is all that kept me going when I tired, felt beaten… that was Jesse and my daughter. I leaned on them so much when I thought I couldn’t go another step, Jesse my light in a dark cruel world, my heartbeat, a source of warmth in the cold, and Becky: my daughter, my friend, counsel, a gift from long ago to walk beside me on this journey.

Now back to recent times after coming back from Detroit and that whole debacle, I’ve stayed here in my room, my prison. I did go out to the coffee shop or grocery store most days, or just for a walk locally round a small park. All that was before. Gradually, due to ill health and depression, my world grew smaller. It has gotten so that I barely leave these four walls. Imagine when you do venture out being watched, reported back on or the very thing you escaped: the horrors of your abuser following you, knowing exactly what they are doing , still that controlling hand on your reins, still pulling them tight, so your every move is fearful. Watching over your shoulder constantly, you feel hunted. This isn’t the nervous mind talking, this is real. The dangers are real, so no more escapes to my little coffee shop where I sat in the warmth letting the coffee slowly swirl through my brain and do that delicious thing of waking my brain-fogged mind… no people watching, just seeing people, hearing their voices, saying hello, goodbye. Although I’m not a people person this did bring me some relief living in my own head.

Also I loved sitting outside, the sun upon my face, even for minutes, sometimes an hour, just to feed my need of being close to nature. Even on the coldest, wet days it charges my batteries, smelling the earth. Touching trees are as important to me as food; it’s a need, a must, but I’m denied these now and slowly, bit by bit, I’m robbed of every last thing I worked so hard for. Can you imagine yourself being shut in a small room, the curtains drawn to keep the cold out, seeing no daylight, feeling cool breeze, the nip of winter chill upon your face? And not only that, there’s no end in sight. I feel chained. I’m more tied up than ever. When I do go out, I run the very real risk of being followed. Even seeing my therapist was interrupted. And, no, there isn’t any help to be had. It’s treated as a minor thing. I’m so sorry to sound bitter but when you worked so hard to free yourself from something as debilitating as Agoraphobia only be shoved back in the shadows again, I cannot help but feel that emotion I had long ago controlled. I’m at the mercy of someone’s lies. They hold all the cards and I’m punished for wanting something we all take for granted… life.

JESSE’S RESPONSE:

I have watched the love of my life deal with the demons in her life with helpless despair since she was assaulted in Detroit. As we are on video chat 24/7 to assuage one another’s anxiety issues, I see and hear everything that happens to her. I pickup the silent sobs when she lies and tells me everything is okay. I see the torturous pain in her face as she struggles through another nightmare. I hear her struggle with a disrespectful, lying son who should be affording her every courtesy and comfort available but, instead, has no affinity for trying to understand her issues. (I hear every conversation she has and know of what I speak.) I hear and see the twisted gargoyle form of her abusive ex as he tries, like all cowards do, to intimidate her, knowing that his face, his voice, the foul stench of his body odor trigger more nightmares, more anxiety. My stomach wrenches as she entertains thoughts like being such a burden that she should walk away from us.

My world, my life resides there in her small town in the form of her. It is maddening that the very agencies existing to help victimized women have such a cavalier attitude toward my love’s continual victimization. She is the sweetest, kindest, most faithful person one could ever hope to meet while her ex is a vile prevaricator, a philanderer, a bully. Her gargoyle-esque Lucifer has his flying monkeys reporting on her whereabouts constantly and calling her names when they pass in the streets that I would never utter in mixed company. It is small wonder such paranoia is evoked. And I must watch on from the sidelines when every instinct in me is to attack the source of her discomfort with brute force.

All I can offer is the love she has never known… and being the man she has never known. I am with her every step of the way and am bound and determined to prove to her that this love of ours is forever and real. I am not going anywhere. I truly believe that when she is, at last, back in my arms, it will be the beginning of a new utopia for both of us. She is, without doubt, the love of my life.

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.

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.