PS I Love You

Oh, SM, I’m in tears. Tears of happiness, love,  sadness and overwhelming loss.

I’ve just found the note you left in my work notebook. Must have been last June, before I went on maternity leave but when we were together. A huge shock, this message beyond the grave, but a bittersweet one.

I’m so glad I didn’t find it at work! It’s now safely stored with your letter, a stone I picked up and kept as a talisman, and the bottle of water you left behind after your last night here, on Earth. I’ll treasure it forever.


Just Checking In

Hey, SM. Been talking about you at lunch. I know you hate that, but it’s tough now. Get over it 😉

Anyway, it felt good to talk about us: how we’d meet at lunch, play footsie under the table in meetings or meet briefly in the car park when you needed reassurance or support. It lead to talking about your last weekend though, and whilst it was good to be able to speak about it without breaking down, now I’m on a low and can’t stop thinking about you. All the what ifs: what if I’d said something else, done something else, saved you somehow. It’s pointless, it’s not going to change anything, but I can’t help it.

I’ve learnt in CBT to allow myself these feelings, acknowledge them, feel them and not think less of myself for doing so. But I still don’t like it.

So I thought I’d just say hi, that I love you and miss you, and I hope you’re at peace.

#yours, SM x

Back To The Grind

So here I am, first day back at work. In true style, my return was forgotten and I have nothing to do. You’d laugh and shake your head at this typical sort of shit.

It’s so weird though. Yes, a different office, but it feels so empty without you. No one else seems to feel it and everyone is either unaware or tactful enough not to mention you. But when I came in last week (that visit also forgotten about) I kept making notes of stuff to discuss with you. Stuff like who made the decision to allow the Head of Client Relations and Sales Director to share an office, wonky graphics on the wall, that sort of thing.

I used to love my job. Not just the hours flirting with you, but I genuinely loved my role. Now I feel that everyone has moved on, left me behind, and don’t really care. I’m not sure if that’s my mental state feeding me crap, all the scandal that has gone down, or the actual truth. My plan was to get back into the daily grind, sort out the financial side of things at home, and then find something new. Completely move on. But I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t want this life any more, that’s what it comes down to.

I know this is ‘just’ depression talking, that I am more than capable of my job, and much more.  But life just feels ‘meh’  now, grey, dull, disinteresting. If I can’t be in Utopia yet, I’d rather be hidden in the corner of McDonald’s, reading my kindle and eating a hash brown.

It was the anniversary of losing Tali yesterday.  The start of my truly, indescribably, awful year. I’d give anything to rewind, make different choices. Save you. Save me. Save everyone who felt the pain of losing you. I’m so, so sorry.

Our Fragile Mortality

I wrote instructions for my funeral today.

I don’t plan on it being soon. But one thing your death has pointed out to me is that if you don’t leave behind instructions, ideas or preferences, your bereaved have to work out what they might be, all whilst dealing with their grief. So I put pen to paper, after thinking about doing so for weeks. I feel relieved and peaceful.

I had to put Maroon 5 down, sorry. But one of our songs is in there (Snow Patrol). You’re such a huge part of my life that I need that acknowledged, and this is nice and subtle. You’d be squirming now, and not really believing it to be true. You occupy my thoughts constantly still, SM. Get used to it.

I’ve decided on my memorial to you. Watch this space x


I’ve been keeping on keeping on. And slowly, I’ve started to move closer to feeling a bit more like normal me again. When I realise that, I’m pleased. And then I feel awful. You are dead and I’ve ruined so many lives. I shouldn’t be allowed to feel OK again.

Eventually I go full circle. It’s something I’m trying to work out in counselling: the acceptance of healing. After all, as I analyse in some of my more bitter moments, you came into my life, found out I wasn’t happy, leant on me, pushed me to cross the line, and then abruptly left, abandoning me. I’m not saying it wasn’t consensual, but I do feel you’ve shirked a lot of responsibility by killing yourself and leaving me fumbling about, trying to pick up the pieces. It wasn’t *all* me. So I should be allowed to heal, right?

I guess I need to come to terms with the fact that, as well as it being OK to not be OK, it is OK to be OK.