The Tunnel

I have a feeling of ‘I should update you’ nagging at me.

Make yourself comfortable.

When I was 16, I had a dream. A dream of falling in love. The kind of love that invades every waking thought. My quest to making this dream a reality almost lead me to giving up my soul to marry a modern day Reggie Kray.

Truth be told, I never loved that bastard and I never felt loved, but the thought that one day I might just be his everything led me down a path of self destruction.

I didn’t really know what Love was until I met Mr N. Only now am I learning of the responsibilities of being in love carries. You can’t just walk away.

I would be lying if I said that the last few months had been a bed of roses. I would rather go through several messy break ups than watch the person I hold dear to me crumble. In my opinion, depression and mental health issues are cancer of the soul and because the soul is something we can never replace, it will never be cured of this disease. I see his soul when I look in to his eyes.

No medicine will ever be able to heal the cracks this infectious bastard has caused.

I have tried to run but my legs won’t carry me and my bags will not hold the weight. I want to run because I feel he would heal faster if I wasn’t here. If my dulcet tones could not be heard anymore.

More forefront I can’t bare the pain it causes me. That sounds so selfish, sorry.

Throughout my life, I have always been in control. Even through the really hard times I have always felt I had control of the reigns. Even if perhaps at times I didn’t. This time I don’t. The one thing I have this time is hope. Only thing is, its run out. I no longer can see the day where we are ‘normal’. We will forever carry this burden.

I do believe that we are strong enough to reach the end of our tunnel. I’m just not sure of the state we will both be in when we do eventually get there. There lies my last ounce of hope, that we will reach the end of this and brighter days are ahead.

It’s the days when memories won’t go away that are the hardest. Its days when life was simple that haunt me the most. They are the days that I can’t let go of. I look at him and he is only but a fraction of the person he used to be. Conversation is not what it used to be. I feel that the love we share has grown stronger, but because it had to.

I thought that the light at the end of the tunnel would get a little bigger with each uphill climb we encountered, but it hasn’t. Its now further away than it has ever been. I’m not sure which foot I should put first as I don’t have a best one at the moment.

Mr N did pull me from the depths of despair, but I also had strength myself. I feel sometimes it’s as if he has no fight left in him. I want so much to help him find some. There has to be a reserve hidden somewhere. Where the fuck is the manual?

I love him and my heart just won’t let me give up on him, or myself. I’m just finding this battle one of the hardest. So hard I’ve considered suicide. I’ve lost the will to get up in the morning. It was the flame that I hold for him and my family that pulled me back from that. It’s a selfish thought I know. I can be quite selfish sometimes.

Its hard for me to read that back, as even when I thought illness was going to end me, I didn’t think like that. I clung to hope and belief. The fact that I did think It just proves how mental health issues can infect others. It just feels like, this time my finger tips are not strong enough to hold on. I don’t know how best to approach this. Head on or side on?

I don’t think the doctor really understands the mess we are both in. He has prescribed Mr N a course of CBT. (Cognitive behaviour therapy) That’s no use to him. He needs a professional to pull him apart and help him to heal his wounds that have been covered up over the years. Not someone with painted on eyebrows to show him how to tick bloody boxes.

The deeper he gets into the darkness of depression, the more I follow. I can’t seem to stop myself.

Maybe it me who needs tablets and therapy? Perhaps it’s my wounds that have not healed as i thought and it’s me who has caused Mr N to fall?

I know that time is a healer but I always have been an impatient little bugger. Perhaps there lies the problem.

I’m going to tea tonight with my friend who thinks her life is over because her new job is boring. That’ll cheer me up.

Thanks for listening.

x

Are you having a breakdown dear?

In my last post I wrote about not having a choice when we leave this life, what I didn't consider was - Do we have a choice on when we have a breakdown?

I often think that the word breakdown is overused and at times not appreciated. My story is one of witnessing the love of my life fall apart whilst I remain a helpless onlooker.

I feel it’s important to share this experience as it may just help some other lost soul.

Friday -
The days leading up to Friday had not been out of the ordinary. No tense moments or heart to hearts.
I went to work feeling a little anxious as my boss was away on holiday and with just two members of staff in, the day was set to be one of the busier ones. Myself and Mr N don't usually have a lot of contact whilst we are both at work. We usually exchange a quick call at lunch time and that’s it until home.

I rang and he didn't pick up. A text from him followed -' can you ring again?' I started the call with my usual jovial tone, of which fell on silence. What followed reduced me to silent tears. I listened to my beloved soul mate breaking his heart to me. Through the quivering tones, he told me how lost and confused he was and how he thought he was having a breakdown. Although I tried to calm and comfort him but inside I was crumbling. I advised him to speak to his boss and request some time off. When I came home, I held him. I told him everything would be fine and I loved him. We ate toasties and cuddled.

Mr N had a week off and tried to put himself back together again. I whipped him away to a luxury hotel and offered some retail therapy. Perhaps not ideal for a man, but shopping and hotels is all I know!

Two weeks later...
An odd text was received mid morning, for some reasons that I still don't know, It set alarm bells ringing. What ensued was the second worst hour of my life. Mr N's mother knew nothing of the state of his mind and I had to phone and explain - pure panic coarse through my soul. I heard her voice faulter and her fear travelled down the telephone line. We eventually got through to Mr N's boss who reassured us he was ok. Having received the reassurance, something still wasn't sitting right. Work was pilling up and the phone would not stop ringing. I stood up from my sea of paper work and told my colleague that I needed to go home. I knew I needed to get home as soon as, but when I arrived home I just sat outside crying over the steering wheel and couldn’t quite find the strength to go in; perhaps it was fear of the unknown. Mr N had told me during the day that he had two weeks left of employment then his boss was laying him off. I suspect it was fear of being penniless that took over me.
When I got in, the very worst hour of my life began. Looking back I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt for not doing enough, but at the time it was my only survival mode kicking in.

I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore and I held Mr N. I held him deep into my arms. I so badly wanted to provide comfort to him. He cried. I cried.

We sat on the sofa and began to talk things through. At the time I was unsure if we were going to have to give up our flat, and with both of our parents not the wealthiest, it would have been unfair to ask either one to support us. Short term separation was discussed. Understandably, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

He lent forward and put his hands over his face. He rubbed at his skin furiously whilst crying uncontrollably. I leant in front him and tried to reassure him but to no avail. I begged him to hold my hand as I was scared and frightened but he couldn’t bear to let me touch him. He started rocking back and forth whilst vigorously shaking. I cried and sobbed as I told him I loved him. I phoned the out of hours doctors’ service and blubbed down the phone 'I think my boyfriend is having a breakdown and I don’t know what to do!'
They spoke to me with a reassuring tone and sent a doctor. The wait seemed like hours. As I stroked his face, he flinched. I knelt down beside him and told him a doctor was on the way and that they would make him feel better. 'Don't let me go to hospital' he cried. Although I reassured him they wouldn’t, I couldn’t be sure.
I also called his boss, as I thought he knows him better than anyone and I thought he might be able to help - needless to say he didn’t. Probably made it worse.
Anyway the doctor came and I left the room, as I left I kissed his shaking head and told him I was just downstairs and that I loved him. It was so hard to leave the one thing that is so precious to me in the hands of a stranger albeit a professional. I paced and argued with his boss downstairs. The bitter cold froze my fingertips as I puffed furiously on several cigarettes. The doctor came down and told us we could back upstairs. My shoulders eased with relief as I saw Mr N wasn’t following her downstairs. She explained the Diazepam she had left and advised a doctor’s appointment first thing Monday morning.
Once a healthy dose of the magic pills were administered, the night ensued with normality. I had to have a bath to hide my tears. I couldn't let him see my fear.

The weekend unfolded without fault and Monday morning tried not to loom.

Well, it's Monday and we've been to the doctor. He's prescribed happy pills and sent us on our way.

I know we'll be fine. We have a good support network, a really good support network and some fantastic twitter people who have shared their experiences in order to help. Thank you if you are one of them. We will continue to try our best, obviously failing at times but hopefully succeeding 75% of the time.

It's going to be fine.

Choice of Exit

We never choose when we enter this life.

Someone else makes that choice and creates your entrance. Although we are the makers of our own destiny, the key point in one’s life is always at the discretion of others.

I would like to think that my parents sat down over the kitchen table, after a few deep and meaning full thoughts they embarked on their next decision to create a life. I shall now remove my rose tinted glasses and stare reality in the face. However the decision was actually made, I did not choose it. My parents did, and unless there is some radical movement on assisted suicide, I shall not choose my exit either.

I can of course take my own life and create my own exit at any point I wished. I won't because I'm too much of a wimp and I believe in destiny.

For someone who isn't suicidal, I have thought about my own death a lot. How? When? Where? What will be my last sight and sound? I shall save my the morbidity of this for a another post.

I have lost two very dear people to me within the last 7 years. I have witnessed the last beat of their hearts and watched them drift from one life to another.

First it was my Grandmother. She was a fine Scotswoman and spoke with a harsh Glaswegian accent. Her hands told a tale of hard work and her cheeks showed the route of many a tear.

She had Alzheimer's. I watched her wicked decline. My family could not care for her, a born and bread Scots woman can be quite demanding, never mind with a twist of Alzheimer’s. We found her a sweet little nursing home in the Northamptonshire countryside. She seemed quite content. At first it broke my heart when my beloved grandmother did not recognise me. I had clung to her apron only 18 months prior. On occasion, when I was feeling mischievous, I would make up a character and regale her with tales of my 10 children and my wayward husband... we laughed for hours and drank many cups of coffee. I would visit her every Sunday with a flask of coffee and Tupperware of cake. We would sit and she would explain to me how the Germans had planted the TV in the dayroom as a bomb and the silly 'feckers' watching it would soon learn!

Sometimes I cried to her, I told her of my relationship breakdown with my mother. The words did not register in her mind but she saw the sorrow in my eyes and squeezed my hand.
She slid deeper into the grasps of a lost mind. Eventually she refused water and food and I knew the time had come.

I knelt down at her bedside, held her hand and sobbed occasionally muttering ‘not yet Gran, I'm not ready.’ She hung on for a few more days; I once again knelt down beside her, stroked her tired and wrinkled skin and began to sing. I'd heard this song twice on the radio that morning so it was on repeat on my internal jukebox. 'bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum....Mister sandman bring me a dream, make him the cutest I have seen' I sat there for over an hour eventually making my own lyrics up, in my head I heard her wail with laughter.

'I'm ready', I whispered as I left that night.

I hadn't even reached home, a 30 minute drive when I got the call to say she had gone. I pulled in to a lay-by and howled with pain.
That was my first experience of loss. Knowing my grandmother, if she could of, I believe she would have chosen of her own exit.

My second was equally painful, my grandfather.

I was his princess.
This is my father's father. They only had one son and that was my father. They longed for a daughter but my grandmother couldn’t conceive again.

I was born on their wedding anniversary. They treasured me like a jewel. In my grandfather’s eyes, I could do no wrong. I would go into his garage and tool shed, re tune his wireless and mess his ever so organised tool tray. He would just ruffle my hair and say 'you little scamp.' We would race down the A14 in his little Peugeot listening to country and Weston.

When I was 15 I went to live with them for a while as things with mum and dad had ventured into something out of a fiction book.
I loved living with them, however this didn’t last long. I had met a boy and he wasn't good enough for my grandfather’s princess. Relationships grew taught and I moved out at the tender age of 16.

I hurt him.

We didn't speak for some time. We were both very stubborn.

I got the news that my great uncle had passed away and I was required to attend his funeral. Although feeling a little sad for my dear Uncle Doug, I dreaded the feeling of looking my grandfather in the eye after a few years of silence.

I arrived at my grandparent’s house and went bounding in through the front door. I was greeted by my grandfather yet it didn’t look like my grandfather. This man had white hair, White, White as snow. My grandfather had decent head of jet black hair with grey stripes. I asked, 'what’s happened to your hair.. ''it's all the stress you caused me, you little scamp!' He proclaimed.

My father took me to one side and told me my grandfather had cancer. He had been having intensive chemotherapy and radiotherapy but to no avail. They were unsure of how long he had left.

The entire 2 hour journey to Uncle Doug’s funeral I sat in silence. I felt angry. Furious. WHY? Why had no one told me? They used the excuse that they were trying to protect me.
On the way home, I once again plunged myself into dark silence. I was breathing him in. He had a particular scent. An unhealthy mix of old spice and washing powder. I never want to forget that comforting smell.

A month later he was admitted to a hospice and three days later he passed away. That night, when my father went to take my grandmother home. I refused to move. I knew the time was close. His fingertips were blue and cold to grip. We listened to Eva Cassidy and tears fell on to the cotton sheets. I told him how sorry I was and how I loved him dearly.

At 1:35am December 2nd 2005, I went outside for a cigarette, my first in 8 months.

At approximately 1:40am, He died.

I believe he waited until I left the room before embarking on his journey. I also believe that had he a choice and was more informed, he would have made his own exit with a little more dignity.

Both of my grandparents did not make their choice of exit as their exits were depicted by some of the most vicious diseases known to man.

We have many choices in life, white bread or brown, tea or coffee, one lump or two? Obviously there are many more, many more important ones that carve our life path, but the most important ones are out of our hands and it is for that very reason, we MUST live each day as if it is our last for our exit from this life is not in our hands.

Never let words go unsaid, If you love someone - Tell them.