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.

It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside

On the 14th of May 2011 I stood in the guest tent, and heard this song played live. I was at Radio One's Big Weekend in Carlisle.

I let the words jingle in my ears. It's an old song, but never ever has the words to a song been so relevant.

When you can't describe what love is - listen to this.

I dedicate this to love of my life. Never ever have I loved anyone the way I love you. For the rest of our lives we will remember standing in that tent trying to fight back the tears.

It's a little bit funny
this feeling inside
I'm not one of those who can easily hide
I don't have much money
but boy if i did
I'd buy a big house where
we both could live

So excuse me forgetting
but these things I do
see i've forgotten if
they're green or they're blue
anyway the thing is
what i really mean
yours are the sweetest eyes i've ever seen

And you can tell everybody,
this is your song
It may be quite simple but
now that is done
I hope you don't mind, i hope you don't mind
that i put down in words
how wonderful life is now your in the world

If i was a sculptor
but then again no
or girl who makes potions in a traveling show
I know it's not much but
it's the best i can do
My gift is my song and
this one's for you

And you can tell everybody
this is your song
It may be quite simple but
now that is done
I hope you don't mind, i hope you don't mind
that i put down in words

How wonderful life is now your in the world

Twitskis

I sit here and I gaze out of the window, I ponder how much the view has changed since I moved in 12 months ago.

The buildings have not changed, the road outside has not altered it's direction or where it leads, but it looks different.

What has really changed is my outlook and I now see in a different light.
It's a bit cliche and for that I apologise, but it's true.

Today, I have reached a Milestone. WE have reached a Milestone. Me and @nettofabulous have been together 18 months. At 7:38 tonight it will be 18 months to the minute that our eyes first met over a snowy Railway station car park in a small cumbrian market town.

During the last 18 months I have been on an amazing journey and have experienced some outstanding acts of generosity.

There is one thing that has been right by my side throughout this. One thing that has helped me through the deepest and darkest hours, so dark that the shadows are overflowing with painful memories.
'It' has followed me through tough decisions.
'It' has shared my joy and revelled in my happiness.
'It' has made me cry
'It' has made being alone enjoyable
'It' has filled tea breaks
'It' has made spray the contents of my glass from my mouth in laughter.

'It' has often been the only insight to my untidy mind.

'It' is more commonly known as Twitter.

I have met some amazing people, I have followed a few individuals through some of the toughest times of their lives, I have lay awake at night thinking about the people I follow and praying to give them strength. I have checked time lines in anticipation and offered my shoulder in support. I have often been moved by peoples words and at times disgusted.I have felt the buzz of excitement as I share in a followers happy occasion.

Twitter has at times acted like the over flow pipe from my brain, when it gets too crowded up there the overflow pipe dribbles out and pours into other people's timeline.

I wouldn't change Twitter for the world. Without being melodramatic, I'm really not sure where I would be without twitter. I'm pretty positive I wouldn't have personally achieved what I have without its constant crutch of support.

So, Thank you Twitter.
Most importantly Thank you to all the individuals who form twitter, to all you brave enough to let us in to your mind and life.

I can sit here typing this, sipping coffee because you helped me to believe in myself.

Thank you.