You would've thought these sleeping pills would have me out by this time, but nope. Do they put me to sleep? No. Do they give me this really uncomfortable sensation in my legs? You got it.
Anyway, maybe getting my feelings out will help?
--
Sometimes I read recent posts on here and I can feel myself wanting to believe that he posted them. It's almost been a month since he passed. I'm still firmly in the denial stage. It's comfortable, but I'm sure it's unhealthy. Still waiting for that phone call, that knock at the door, a "haha you really thought I was dead!" message. I'm not an idiot, I know he's gone, but my stupid monkey brain wants to ignore reality. The funeral is coming up, and once I see his coffin I won't have any choice but to accept what has happened. I am terrified. If it is an open casket funeral, I don't know how I will react. I want to crawl into the coffin with him and be buried alive. In a few hundred years they'll dig us up (probably assume we were a straight couple), and find our skeletons intertwined.
Tomorrow I will try to sort through the bags of stuff from our flat my mum packed and brought back home. I have an organiser box for notebooks, I kept an anniversary card he wrote me in there. It has gone. There are only two options: 1) my mum saw it and has hidden it for now, knowing it would upset me, or 2) his parents went through my belongings when they were clearing the flat, saw the card, and took it or destroyed it. I don't think my mum would go through my things like that though, so I fear option 2 is more likely. But what can I say? The next time I see the parents will be the funeral. I'm not going to ask them if they binned an anniversary card... They'll just deny it, or, given the heightened emotions of a funeral, will get angry and blame me for all that has happened. The masochistic side of me wants that. I already blame myself, so for them to say it to my face would only confirm my feelings.
Aside from the card, there is a photo of him and me which may not be with my things. An orchid he bought me for my birthday last year. A photo frame with dried petals from the first bouquet he ever bought me (the first bouquet anyone ever bought me, really). So many little things which his parents and my mum would've looked over, ignored, thrown out. But they weren't just little things to us. Our entire flat was full of seemingly insignificant items which were filled with our love for each other. And now it's empty.
I cannot even pretend to be okay. It's disgusting I know, but in the almost 4 weeks since his death, I've bathed maybe 3 or 4 times. I've brushed my teeth about the same amount, maybe even less, my memory of this entire month is just blackness. My hair feels dirty. I wear the same clothes day in, day out. I've gone from being the sort who would spend 30 minutes each morning doing their hair to a man who can't even wash his face in the sink. I've fallen so far, so fast. In our final conversation - the argument - he said that if I return to my hometown I would just end up rotting here. And he was right. I was already quite slim before this, but I can see that I've lost weight. I'm wasting away, just like he predicted.
Recently I have been having sudden flashes of memories of him. Our first trip away in Rhayader. Our final holiday in Japan. Making gingerbread houses. Carving pumpkins. Just holding him, smelling his hair, feeling the warmth of his skin, telling him I loved him. It still makes me feel sick to think of our relationship, knowing how it ended. These memories push me towards consuming my SN. I can't cope with all of this. But I need to wait a tiny bit more. I'm almost at the end, and then I can be with him again.
Now I need to try to sleep. I pray that I can be trapped in a dream world with him and never wake up to this hell on Earth I am currently living in.
Anyway, maybe getting my feelings out will help?
--
Sometimes I read recent posts on here and I can feel myself wanting to believe that he posted them. It's almost been a month since he passed. I'm still firmly in the denial stage. It's comfortable, but I'm sure it's unhealthy. Still waiting for that phone call, that knock at the door, a "haha you really thought I was dead!" message. I'm not an idiot, I know he's gone, but my stupid monkey brain wants to ignore reality. The funeral is coming up, and once I see his coffin I won't have any choice but to accept what has happened. I am terrified. If it is an open casket funeral, I don't know how I will react. I want to crawl into the coffin with him and be buried alive. In a few hundred years they'll dig us up (probably assume we were a straight couple), and find our skeletons intertwined.
Tomorrow I will try to sort through the bags of stuff from our flat my mum packed and brought back home. I have an organiser box for notebooks, I kept an anniversary card he wrote me in there. It has gone. There are only two options: 1) my mum saw it and has hidden it for now, knowing it would upset me, or 2) his parents went through my belongings when they were clearing the flat, saw the card, and took it or destroyed it. I don't think my mum would go through my things like that though, so I fear option 2 is more likely. But what can I say? The next time I see the parents will be the funeral. I'm not going to ask them if they binned an anniversary card... They'll just deny it, or, given the heightened emotions of a funeral, will get angry and blame me for all that has happened. The masochistic side of me wants that. I already blame myself, so for them to say it to my face would only confirm my feelings.
Aside from the card, there is a photo of him and me which may not be with my things. An orchid he bought me for my birthday last year. A photo frame with dried petals from the first bouquet he ever bought me (the first bouquet anyone ever bought me, really). So many little things which his parents and my mum would've looked over, ignored, thrown out. But they weren't just little things to us. Our entire flat was full of seemingly insignificant items which were filled with our love for each other. And now it's empty.
I cannot even pretend to be okay. It's disgusting I know, but in the almost 4 weeks since his death, I've bathed maybe 3 or 4 times. I've brushed my teeth about the same amount, maybe even less, my memory of this entire month is just blackness. My hair feels dirty. I wear the same clothes day in, day out. I've gone from being the sort who would spend 30 minutes each morning doing their hair to a man who can't even wash his face in the sink. I've fallen so far, so fast. In our final conversation - the argument - he said that if I return to my hometown I would just end up rotting here. And he was right. I was already quite slim before this, but I can see that I've lost weight. I'm wasting away, just like he predicted.
Recently I have been having sudden flashes of memories of him. Our first trip away in Rhayader. Our final holiday in Japan. Making gingerbread houses. Carving pumpkins. Just holding him, smelling his hair, feeling the warmth of his skin, telling him I loved him. It still makes me feel sick to think of our relationship, knowing how it ended. These memories push me towards consuming my SN. I can't cope with all of this. But I need to wait a tiny bit more. I'm almost at the end, and then I can be with him again.
Now I need to try to sleep. I pray that I can be trapped in a dream world with him and never wake up to this hell on Earth I am currently living in.
