Saturday, 12 October 2013

Dear Alex, Bottle it up and carry on...

Dear Alex,

Shouting continues downstairs, as it has done all day today. You began at 6am, and it's 8pm, and you still go on.

I ask the carer to give us a few hours family time-see if that helps, knowing you feel (as do I ) a presence always in the house. Only you become worse, my bruised arm with your finger grips where Lola ran over to try and prize your hand off throb still...I had to leave you in your bedroom for a while, as I couldn't calm down, heart broken tears of distress and weariness pour, and nor could you, I had spent ages cooking for everyone- roast gammon, potatoes, veg and salad. We'd made meringues together this morning to have with strawberries and cream for pudding...It was a waste, you cried your way and shouted and swore at me throughout...

...These dark days, where you lash out, you are so lost to the real world, you are so damaged. Are my moments that bleed me dry. I want to scream at you 'Look what this is for me, I do everything for you, I am there for you, living, breathing you 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and have done for over 2 years...You never give me anything, we don't live like a normal young married couple, you can't even parent with me...I bring up our four kids on my own, and you make things even harder'...I want to carry on screaming till I can scream it out loud and you I want you to hear and cuddle me and say you understand and you are sorry and it will be different...But you can't, and it makes me just want to shake you, the you in front of me and scream 'where's Alex? My Alex? The one you took from me...?'

Instead I cry, bottle it all up, as I help you with your dinner-mine goes cold in the kitchen- and as you shout accusingly 'What the f*** is wrong with you?' And I, through streaming tears whilst the kids watch on, say nothing, 'I am just sad', I relent...You wouldn't understand, you can't. There's no point pretending you could.

There's no you to comfort me.

I snap at the kids to sit properly, not moan about the dinner I made for them all...I am on the brink of screaming, running away, saying 'who the *&^( lives like this? Who else would do this?'

But I wouldn't, I couldn't.

And still there's no you to comfort me.

me xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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