Goodbye, not Farewell

And so my blog reaches its end. It has served its purpose. It has recorded a lot of the torture I have been through. It has recorded some triumphs and losses. It has and will remain a record of the broken man I once was. It shows the determination and courage to survive and come out the other end. It shows my sheer bloody mindedness to get through months of anxiety and panic and hopelessness. I would not be here if it wasn’t for the initial action and continued support of my best friend K. She has seen me through some tough times, from the moment I was found hanging, to crying over my loss to my numerous ups and downs. I wish I could be more to her. I wish I could be everything she wants.

Have I come out the other side a better man? Should I be any different to that man on the 12th of June? I can share my innermost thoughts with complete strangers but still cannot share with my closest friends in person. It’s as if I still write this as another person, like it’s still not real, and that it’s a novel, a piece of prose.

It has taken time to realise that R never really loved me. I think she thought she did but what happened to me proved she never could. I have concentrated on people who I should have forgotten about months ago. I should have been concentrating on my recovery and investing my emotions on those that deserved my attention.

That’s all in the past now. My recovery is still in it’s early stages. I haven’t done any real work for months. My economic situation is dire and my health not great. I continue to fight old age and ill health by doing as much exercise as I can. I moisturise every day and I’ve even been conned into buying men’s fucking make up!! ( is £20 a lot to pay for a blob of concealer??)

My sense of humour is returning. My friends are welcoming me back and I think I’m welcoming myself back as well! I find myself doing stupid silly things again and a smile comes easy when no one is watching……..

If dear reader, you remember that the title of my blog was Loves Labours Lost or Love letters then it will come as no surprise that I had hoped she would read all of it just to see what she meant to me and how ill I had become. I hope one day she would realise what we had both lost through mental illness. What I have written has been deeply personal. It’s also been the longest love letter I’ve ever written. I know that what I have written has resonated with many of you and I sincerely hope that my experiences have helped in some small way.

For the future I must live in the present, for my family and my friends. My journey isn’t complete quite yet and who knows what will happen around that sharp curve in the road. Will I get lost again? Will I retrace my steps and fall? Will I follow a different road to a new destination? Who knows! What I do know is that you have to be in the game to have any chance of winning. If you don’t win then you keep on playing. I’m so happy to be at the table waiting on a new deal.

"So if I asked you about art, you'd probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life's work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that. If I ask you about women, you'd probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You're a tough kid. And I'd ask you about war, you'd probably throw Shakespeare at me, right, "once more unto the breach dear friends." But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap, watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. I'd ask you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms "visiting hours" don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss, 'cause it only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much. And look at you... I don't see an intelligent, confident man... I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you're a genius Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine, and you ripped my fucking life apart. You're an orphan right?"

I think this quote from Good Will Hunting explains what I have lived through and how torn I was. I may pop in from time to time, but for now dear readers, adieu.