for my "N"

It was so wonderful to be able to talk about you to my therapist today. To be able to talk about you comfortably without fear of shame or judgment. My whole being is still bathed in a warm delicate glow of having said your beautiful name out loud to someone and the bitter sweet tears that flowed along with my confession “I love him, I truly and honestly love him, do you understand?” and the reassuring nod that saved me from falling inside my fathomless loss and despair.

Being able to tell an understanding person about my love for you, despite the separation, the years and the distance has allowed a wilted flower inside me to bloom again. I never knew something so radiant, so fierce can grow in the swamps of my longing for you, in the drought of not having you.

In my sweet solitude I can love you privately and grieve for you privately, and allow my mind to go back to a time when our desire and passion for each other was so tremendous, a powerful wild creature that could not be tamed or reined, when it was so natural to make love five times a night, when our kisses could not put out the fire, how you would be inside me and still not close enough. The way I used to sniff my pillows when we couldn’t be together, the way I never used to change our soiled sheets, the way I would postpone washing lest I wash your smell off my skin. The way the smell of your sweat aroused me, the way I wrapped myself around you or playfully blocked the  door to stop you from leaving. The way I used to (and still) spend hours daydreaming about your fantastically built body, like a Greek God you were, your strength each time you swept me and carried me to bed as if I weighed nothing, your masculine arms, your gorgeous face, your intense eyes, your painfully inviting lips, and your manhood, that God I worshiped and was so faithful to, that flawless magnificent hard delicious tasting cock that I wanted again and again and again. The intimacy we shared after the sex, hours of talking and laughing, the way you played with my hair while I lay my head on your chest rising and falling with your every breath, how you could unravel me with a sweet whisper and put me back together again with a firm embrace.

I go back to that time, the hot tears come and I let them because love is as severe as death. Love is as severe as death.

My heart did what it does best..

I had read about the growing number of racial slurs that have been taking place in different parts of England targeting immigrants in the aftermath of “Brexit”, I was afraid for Jori and had told her that she wasn’t allowed to walk or ride her bike to school and back any more, it wasn’t safe. We agreed I would drive or walk her to school and back every day until we left this country for good as soon as the school year was over. I was having a rough week, feeling emotionally low, with zero vitality, sleeping poorly and having vivid violent dreams. In most of my dreams Jori was lost or taken from me, I would wake up screaming, panting, gasping for breath, wet with perspiration, reaching out into the darkness and emptiness of my room.

In the day time, I tried my best to stay afloat, my concentration weak, my focus laboured and exhausting, my limbs felt heavy my physical movement almost painful, I’d peel myself out of bed feeling so tired as if I had been mountain climbing rather than resting! I’d try to go about my day, checking things off my list: contact shipping company to have all my paintings shipped to my new home in Dubai, contact utility companies, tell my GP I’m relocating, find best quote for the sale of my car, give unwanted items to charity, etc.

It was time to bring Jori from school, I drove to the spot where I meet her every day, outside the school gate, the children flowed out in large groups, at first I wasn’t  worried, Jori always came out later than the other children, when I showed irritation about it in the past she said it always took her time to pack her things! But now I was a bit anxious! I saw almost all her friends pass me by walking towards their parents. I felt a knot in my stomach, the groups of children coming out of the gate were now patchy and infrequent. Where is she? I turned off the ignition and started to walk towards the gate, but if I go inside the school I might miss her somehow and we’d both be looking for each other in panic, she might not notice the car, she might think I hadn’t come for her! I began to pace back and forth worried, quick short breaths, my heart pounding, my mind switched on panic mode: something happened, something happened to my child, I dropped her off near the gate this morning but I hadn’t seen her (actually) enter the school, did something happened to her in the morning? My child! Where is she? There were no more children coming out of the gate now! I can feel my brain send an order for my feet to start running towards the school gate, but my feet were made out of lead! They were so heavy, everything was in slow motion now, it’s a dream my heart yelled, one of those awful dreams we’ve been having, we’ll wake up soon! But I didn’t wake up, as I tried to run shin splints shot spasms of immense pain straight to my heart each time my feet came in contact with the ground. There were people around, but I was completely alone, my throat was so dry, I was so thirsty, the sun seemed to burn the top of my head, how did the few yards between where I was parked and the school gate expand endlessly like this? Why can’t I reach the gate? Why am I not getting any closer? I’m trying so hard! I saw Jori’s teacher peer outside the gate with that “one last look to make sure all the children and parents are gone before I lock the gate”. I tried to say something, but no words would come, she saw me and immediately recognised me, she frowned, surprised that I was there! I tried to read her face, was she surprised because Jori had already left, or because she hadn’t been to school at all today? The latter was something beyond my ability to consider, the seconds were so slow, so vast, I opened my mouth, she opened her mouth “Are you Okay?”. “Jori” I said panting, gasping “I was supposed to meet here there, over there” I pointed, failing to keep my voice normal, quivering and shaking almost allowing my tears to choke me. “She didn’t say, she left.. maybe 10 minutes ago, I thought she walks home or rides her bike home?” I didn’t have time to explain that I had forbade her from doing so since this stupid political turmoil had begun and there was no short way to explain, so I just ran back to my car, I had to drive home, to see if she’s there, or half way there. The painful distance between the school gate and my car stretching before me once more, endless and mocking. I heard the teacher yell: “you can call the school of she’s not at home”, but that wasn’t something I could even think about! I don’t know how I got home, but I did and she was there, tearful, scared “I’m so so Sorry! Mummy, I only remembered you were picking me up after I had walked half way back.. I didn’t know whether to turn back and go to school or to just come here and wait, so I continued home”. I stared at her, my eyes bulging, every bone in my body shaking uncontrollably, the pain in my limbs crippling me, my mind trying to leap from “the most devastating thing that could ever happen, my worst, most horrible, most terrifying nightmare coming true” to  “it’s okay, everything is fine” and it wasn’t an easy leap to make. My heart, my poor, sad, trembling heart, my tired heart, my weary already broken, already shattered, already bruised, already aching, already suffering so much, did what it does best; reassured me and kept me alive.  

Looking for you

I read;

George Chaplin

Henrietta Johnson

Laura Louisa Nicks

Joseph Bradbury

Walter Jackson

The day was warm, the sun was shining, there was such peace amongst the tombstones.. the grey granites, erect unwavering and silent, the cemetery seemed a calm tranquil sanatorium, a final resting place;

Mary Jane Gould

Harry Trickett

Sara Ann Roberts

Alfred Twycross

Fredrick Clew

Clara and Ernest Hamm

A man walks his dog, a rabbit hops between the shrubs, fresh flowers, plastic flowers, tended graves, neglected graves, shiny new headstones, headstones so old the engravings erased. Spider webs spun from the upper left corner of the cross to the right..

Tom Ferman

David Harris

Hilda May

Hanna Harrison Barnes

Ablert Edward Yardley

Joseph Griffin

Sandra Baker

William and Alice Grey

All the dead have romantic melodic names! perhaps it's the passing of time, perhaps it's their bloodless decay beneath the earth, perhaps it's because we know that they are gone forever. The trees sway mournfully to and fro and a beautiful melancholy sweeps the grounds as I continue searching for your name, I brought you red roses, so many years have passed, I’m sorry I did not visit sooner, I miss you every day.  

I don't need my hands anymore.

Every man I loved and trusted took something from me

my innocence

my self-worth

my confidence

my love

my dreams

my sense of self

my sense of belonging

my ability to trust

my money

a sense of security

my faith

my peace of mind

bits of my soul

my heart

my body

my time

my energy

They took and took.. and I being foolish, naïve and desperate to be loved, let them.

I walk through life - now - a scarecrow, hollow, stuffed with dry dead straw, barely waving trespassers whenever the wind blew with ragged tattered empty sleeves, armless.

I don’t need my hands anymore, I have nothing left to give.

Ripples

Sometimes I think about my pain, sometimes I think about your pain,

the never ending malignant ripples, widening, expanding.. forever

once a stone is tossed in the waters of your being, nothing is ever the same

I don’t know why some are happier than others, why some are stronger,

why some are luckier.. I don’t have the answers..

But I know I no longer hope for a recovery.. a retrieving  of an old self

The water is too murky, the bottom too deep, the stones too alike to ever reclaim the one that opened the largest wound and keeps echoing disaster.

There are bruises you just can’t come back from, not “you” any way, not whole anyway,

when you loved me it was like.. it was like all I have ever lost was somehow given back to me.

I don’t know where to go with myself now that you’ve replaced me, there’s nowhere to go from myself.. the thought of you loving her, touching her, the thought of her carrying your child, the child I so much wanted to have with you.. too many knives, too many bullets, too many lightning strikes for me to ever try to escape.. and I’m so tired.. so very tired.

The courage to reach out (again).

Dear JP,

My name is Fatima, I'm 35 years old. I stumbled upon your YouTube videos by coincidence (although there is probably no such thing as coincidence), I was so inspired by many of the things you said, I was blown away by your wisdom and you kind, sensible sense of homour. I have been slipping in and out of depression for several years, my struggle has been a fierce one. I sought therapy, medication and spirituality without avail, I seem to regain some strength and confidence then quickly relapse again. I am tired, I am tired of my suffering, I am tired of enduring my pain, I am tired of the mammoth guilt I feel when I take my loneliness and anger out on my ten year old daughter whom I love more than anything, more than anyone. I know that what I need to improve is already inside me, I know that no one can save me but me, but I need a helping hand. Please, will you help me?

Kind Regards
F

Just as we begin to go they begin to arrive – Sharon Olds

Something about the world after a heavy rain fall;

the kind that falls urgently as if to extinguish a fiery morning,

the kind that flows like severe black ink in darkened lanes.

I let the sky have her terrible tantrum before I opened the door,

having said her piece and hysterical tears, she seems to rest

I walked, treading softly on the tired bending blades of grass, soaked in tragedy

while the old trodden earth lets loose her familiar (after rain) smell of gratitude

“everything must calm down now, all must retire”

I brush her long black hair, last chore of the day

“Mummy! Do you think I look like you?”

I look up from my task and find my face in her mirror, her thick glossy hair

like jet black ink, and mine slowly turning grey.

Why is it that they begin to come just as we are begin to go?