This week hits me like a tonne of bricks, every year. I always think that it might be easier, but it never is. Tomorrow I celebrate 3 years in my little flat and on Wednesday I will mourn 14 years since I lost my Mum. The pain that comes from it is always intense and horrendous. And the tears flow freely. Things have changed this year in that I have more support, but the pain is still as intense. Mum was the glue that held my biological family together, and with her gone, those bonds have dissolved into nothingness.
I feel so lonely at this time of year. My emotions run riot and combined with my PTSD it generally tends to mean I’m left feeling overwhelmed all the time. Every step feels like a massive one. Even going out for my front door is a huge step right now. And I need to check if the hoover bags have arrived in the mail, but I’m still sat here in my pjs, wanting to hide from the world. People tell you that it gets easier with time, and I’m sorry but that is a lie. Grief just changes each year. It’s still a gaping wide hole in your heart and soul, and it still knocks you for six each time it hits you unaware.
I’m trying to get this written down so that I get it out of my head. I need to at least try and get the thoughts and feelings out there, but it’s not like I expect anyone to really read it.