They start early these days.
Sleep seems a mysterious thing, brief snatches of it caught between painful reminders that I’m still alive and painful reminders that I’m in pain. The snatches illuminated by strange dreams, memorable only in my waking hour.
Cats up. One of them wants to go out, pleads and then screams at me to go down an open the front door. It’s just after 4.00am, or is that 2.00am, although really there’s no difference.
Stumble into kitchen being careful not to wake partner. Light on, fumble for kettle whilst dismally surveying that pile of dishes she didn’t do before bed. Already fed up.
Coffee made, I open up my iPad and catch up on the news. The worlds in a mess. Cast antagonistic look in the direction of the table where my work laptop sits, daring it to open by itself and plunge me back into hell.
Flick aimlessly through websites. See things I’d like but then dismiss them as frivolous. Look at the mess I live in and despair again at the chaos, this turmoil I exist in. No order, nowhere to put stuff…my stuff, a stark reminder that my stuff is upstairs, hidden away like an embarrassment.
Cat screams outside. Let her in and then back to the aimless fretting. Take my meds. Or forget to take them. Forget my coffee. Just forget.
Ritual. We have a dartboard in our kitchen and I spend 15 minutes aimlessly chucking darts at it. Occasionally I surprise myself and hit it. Pick up dumbbells and spend ten minutes doing some gentle exercise. Put kettle on, forget to make coffee!.
8.30. Sit at laptop. Log in. Always first one, always 30 minutes early. Scroll unenthusiastically through emails, sorting the dross and stuff I needn’t know about from the urgent.
9.00 phone rings, first call of the day!. Angry, upset, frustrated, recent widow, furious, believes I work for HMRC and am therefore the rightful target of abuse (I don’t and I’m not)- you just never know what you’ll get.
More coffee. Drink half. Morning chaotic. So many demands, constantly buffeted by someone wanting a piece of me. Close to tears, close to meltdown, barely time to breathe. Realise I’ve not take a day this year and despite only working four days a week this is the 52nd consecutive day I’m logged on and working.
Everyday is the same. They blur into a single entity interspersed with strange periods where I seem to move from room to room and sofa to bed. I say interspersed but there’s none of that, not really, just patches of grey amidst dark days.
And those are my days. I think they’re days. Is it just a single day, drawn out, stretched thin until it’s fragile and easily broken?. A bit like me I suppose.
Just another day. After day. After day.
When will it end?. Will it end?. It will…