I don’t go anywhere without my phone anymore. I panic when it’s not there. Even if I just go downstairs for a couple minutes to grab a drink. I have to have it. It’s not about the device itself, I’m not addicted. I need to have it when I get called. If I leave the house I bring a power bank. I can’t run out of battery. I have to be reachable for when it’s happened.
We all do this. If we leave, we all make sure it is known whether we have our phone and if not how we can be reached. It makes work agonizing. Hours of not being able to check if I missed a call or text, because it’s rude. Evening shifts are the bane of my existence, despite being the easiest. I am the sole responsible person then. I can’t just leave.
Anytime my phone rings I am afraid to answer. People rarely call me, I have calling anxiety. It only makes this all worse. And when it’s someone who can’t be bearing the news I feel a flash of anger that they’re calling. I’m expecting a phone call and they’re keeping my line busy. They scared me. But usually, they meant well.
I don’t know where I’m going with this. I just need to get it out. Ironic that I can pull of short sentences when it’s about me. It correlates to my attention span right now. I keep looking for distractions because I need a break from my thoughts, but nothing works for long. Games still work, but I get so into it that time disappears so unless I’ve got a lot of time I don’t go there. I’m so tired of acting responsible and mature. I’m also tried from my fucked up sleeping schedule and crazy dreams. All my symptoms are coming back. I wonder if this time I will get to experience what it’s like to get support throughout this? Friends and family are already being much more considered this time. Why is this any different? Why is being sad about hurting over grief more valid than being sad over hurting?
I don’t want cheerful songs right now. It’s better to fill the painful silence with songs that match my mood. It’s less confronting.
I tried to start writing the poem for the ceremony. It’s been years since I wrote a poem in Dutch, but it’d feel wrong in English. I made some progress, but then I broke down. I will always carry her with me in the tattoo on my skin, the necklace around my neck, and the memories in my head.
The world keeps moving on. It’ll be Christmas soon and I’m not excited. Not in the same bitter way I’m used to. More like it’s sneaking up on me, another mandatory box to tick at this time of year. We haven’t planned anything. I don’t even want to, it feels wrong. Last year I decided to come home after all for Christmas, because it could be her last en now it really might be. The last one she was fully aware anyway…
I’m supposed to find a birthday present for a friend whose party I may or may not be attending. I want to. But it’s hard enough to get out of bed. I don’t even know what will happen in an hour, let alone in a week.
My eyes keep wrongly adjusting to the light, almost like a literal tunnel vision. I can even feel the expressionlessness of my face. I feel numb except for this heaviness all over.
Now my fingers no longer fly over the keyboard, I guess that means it’s time to stop.