March

Chose peace in the end and trying to congratulate myself for that, queasy with the thought that if my hand hadn’t been forced I’m not sure I would have done it. Knowing that what matters isn’t how we made the choice but the choice we made in the end, it doesn’t really matter how we get there. Knowing this is the best I’ve felt in weeks but still wishing I felt better. Missing everyone, going home with myself every night. Don’t confront me with my failures, I had not forgotten them. The tulips have a carnivorous look about them and I love them, greedy mouths in my room. I think I knew this was how it would end up, knowing that it’s not ever the end until it is and nobody knows when that will be so you really must just enjoy it. I tried putting pen to paper but it felt too close to home and I felt obliged to write what has happened and it hurt me to write like I was writing it on my bare skin. The postcard in my room of a tiger on its back with a pelican tickling its feet. So silly. Someone said “you’ve made living in London work” and that made me feel really proud actually. Every time I go to yoga and have to do the deepest breath I always feel like I’m going to cry. I’m going to learn to drive and that’s exciting. When I finally stopped drinking after my heart got broken again I thought the feelings would break me open and to an extent that’s true but I’m not broken really, I don’t know what it means when someone is broken. Dust motes. I had a dream I accused someone I love of the worst thing imaginable and it hasn’t left me all day even though I wish it would. My subconscious is so on the nose, right between the eyes. Even if I had someone close enough to tell I’m not sure I would because it’s so awful. How can I feel so bad for something I can barely choke into words? Wanting to call my Mum, hoping she wouldn’t mind me wearing her corduroy Toast shirt. It doesn’t matter now. Just wanting to call her so badly and knowing we never went three days without speaking let alone three years and it’s so simple and so painful. Wondering if anyone will ever love me, pathetic. The shirt has been to Portugal and Italy and Greece and Denmark with me since she died, and now it lives in London with me. My writing is always so sad, but I am sad so what do I expect, nobody likes a faker anyway. I am my mother’s daughter through and through. I dreamed I said are you all turning away from me because I remind you of her? Right between the eyes, like I said. I told my friend about the worst thing I’ve ever done and he laughed and said most people have done things that are so much worse. I hang these things round my neck, I do it to myself. Knowing at the core of it I am brave and kind.