Drunk

I am a bit confused as to the new purpose of this blog. Prior to Keith's death it was about his illness and its effect on us, what am I to write about now? I don't want to write about our grief. Why would I do that? It seems pointless to me to go into detail about how awful things are. Not least because I am regularly told grief is a 'process' that I must 'go through'; great, none of this is special or different, I am merely ticking boxes of symptoms like everybody else. Google those then; that's how we are.

No part of me feels like an individual. No part of me feels special. I feel like one of millions exhibiting the same predictable behaviour as everyone else. Everybody has their own shit, and it doesn't make us individuals. There is no comfort in this. I don't want to know about other peoples experiences of losing people, it doesn't help one iota. In my world and my universe nothing can help, not any knowledge from anywhere, no experience of knowing 'it will pass'. No it won't, my husband died, nothing can help.

I'm special to my kids, I'm special to my mum but mostly I was special to my husband. Now he's gone, there is really nothing special left. I look at other families of strangers in the street, families of four and think, no, this is not fair. I imagine they look at me and they can tell and they breathe a sigh of relief to think it happened to someone else and not to them, and then the dads reach for their daughters' hands to cross the road, and I think this is not fair. I look other men and I think, my husband was a better father than you, he was a better man than you will ever be; this is not fair.

All this anger, all this pain it's 'normal', it 'will pass' and change into something 'different'. I don't care. I don't want to be normal if this is how it feels. 

I am not looking forward to the build up to Christmas. People rush around me buying presents for loved ones. The intimacy of being given presents by one's partner is on the long list of things ripped away from me. The superficiality of making it all about the kids feels plastic like the very presents they will receive. I imagine I will do much the same as I did last night: drink too much wine and send attention seeking messages from the phone that is permanently glued to my hand, my desperate connection to the outside world. They should add that to the list of grief symptoms: gets drunk and posts stupid pictures on Facebook. Then people will just think, oh it's ok, she's a grieving widow...nothing to see here. It's normal.

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