Rut

I know that, as usual, I've not posted much of late, and truth be told, whenever I do seem to need to get my brain thoughts out, it's just me, sounding sad and tired and something wrong with me medically and everything else I always seems to moan and sulk about. 

And this post is nothing new. As usual, I feel like crap, and as usual, I'm fed up of feeling like crap. I don't know where to start, or how to form a simple coherent... Thing.

I'm... Something? Down. Sad. Fed up. Miserable. Unhappy. I hate feeling crap so much - both physically and mentally - and the effort of putting on my brave face and trying to not be all those things... Well, it's almost as exhausting as everything else I have to do. I hate my brain. I hate my physiology. I hate my body. I hate the pain, the exhaustion, the constant feeling like shit... I hate that I feel like I am constantly struggling... Either to look after myself, or the house, or the family. I hate seeing stuff pile up, and after nagging for people to help, I do it all myself, and end up in more pain, feeling more exhausted... And the crap builds up again. 

I hate thinking that people either don't believe me when I tell them how shit I feel, or they do believe me, but aren't bothered by the fact I feel so shit. I've given up for the most part. I tell people I'm "ok" or "tired" when inside I'm a mess, and my tiredness is pure, unadulterated exhaustion. I hate that people still don't get how much anxiety I deal with getting ready and going out. How the acts of being social, of travelling, of standing around talking... How all these things cause me actual physical pain, and my brain to scream and shout and batter on the inside of my skull. 

A few hours of housework, a trip out, hanging with friends for a few hours, sorting stuff out... That might not sound like much to you, but that is a FULL ON busy week for me. I can go to bed at one in the afternoon after all this, and be a wreck in bed for 20 hours - only to have to pop-up and rejoin the world. 

I feel so alone with all this in my head so much of the time. I can't talk about it much as I am sure people think I'm just droning on about poor tired me. People think I'm lazy as I would rather stay in. That I'm a slob as I wear lounge pants and not jeans. That I'm messy because I haven't brushed my hair or shaved. I'm not droning on, I'm trying to get people to understand how me (and people like me) feel when we are having a rough time. I'd rather stay in because the act of getting ready and going out hurts me both physically and mentally. I wear lounge pants as the material from my jeans hurts my skin, and they're heavy on my body. I haven't brushed my hair or shaved, because I simply don't have the strength in my arms to do my hair or facial hair after brushing my teeth or pulling on a tee shirt.

I would give almost anything to not feel this way. To not have people exchanging glances at one another when I try talking about being awake for 30 due to pain, despite being exhausted. To not have friends suddenly disappear on you because you know you've either bored them to death with your moaning, or because you didn't reply to a message and they think you're ignoring them. I want nothing more than to not feel like every anxiety and stress in my brain is going to suffocate me. 

I hate how I am. I hate how I feel. I can't not be this way, and I can't not feel how I feel. I can't "think positive thoughts" and be better. I can't "just push though it" or "tough it out" or "man up" or whatever to not feel so shit. 

If you don't get me, fine. But don't expect your not-getting-it will on any way change how I am - if you think it's just me being lazy, just me not putting in the effort, or not being bothered - that's your problem, not mine. Your thoughts & beliefs won't change how my body or brain react to anything. 

I thought by the time I was 40, life would be easy, simpler, happier... I just feel like I've been stuck in the same shitty reoccurring dreams for seventeen years, and instead of life getting easier, and me coping with my issues, the opposite is true. Physically I'm useless, and mentally I'm just a bundle of neuroses and stress. 

I'm sorry to sound like a broken record. I just don't know what else to do with myself. 

Old Girl!

Believe it or not, the wee little thing we call "Molly" is another year older today, and somehow, the little moo-bag is fifteen years old!

FIFTEEN!

I'm sure it wasn't that long ago that I was sat in Kellies living room meeting these two little blonde kids, one of which was a seven year old girl that just wouldn't stop talking and asking questions about me... Who I am, where I'm from, what I do, what I watch..

I mean, she just would Not. Shut. Up.

And now, eight years down the line, she still talks and babbles and rambles on, still bombards me with random questions, though, being she's A) a girl, and B) a teenager, most of the babbling on is "and she said blah to him but I said no way to her then she said ugh to them and when he came in it was like oh my God what is he wearing but then she went up to him and tomato fruit basket lemon pie glass of apple cider rainbows lollipops oh my God is she still talking what the hell do I do I know just smile and nod but carry on watching the TV out the corner of my eye"

Again, she simply does Not. Shut. Up.

But, none the less, despite her not appreciating my wishing her a happy birthday just after midnight, not liking the words to a happy birthday song I sent her (below), nor seemingly appreciative of my "Birthday Dance In Just My Boxers" - let alone the "Cuddle In Just My Boxers" afterwards - here's to my no-longer-so-little Roley Moley, Chief Butt Scratcher, She Who Watches Me Pee, The One With The Sulks Of Doom, the female that generates more laundry than every other girl on the damn planet, and the girl that whose mood swings are so epic, even her teachers refer to her as going FULL MOLLY!

Happy Birthday my sweet (ish), little (ish), lovely (ish) girl. You're not as terrible as I tell you you are!


Suspicion

I have a feeling birds are all insomniacs*. My theory is flawless, being that its five in the morning and I'm yet to sleep, I've had plenty of time to think it through.

My reasoning? The birds so-called "Dawn Chorus" isn't them singing and greeting the sun... No, they are screaming in frustration that the sun is about to come up, they're exhausted, and have yet to sleep!

My theory is scientifically sound.


*except Owls... Those bastards are up all night hassling rodents through their own choice dammit. F$ck owls.

I Wish People Understood

At four in the morning, pain and tiredness do funny things to my brain. Well, funnier than usual at least. My current train of thought relates with how people treat me, act towards me, of their opinion of me...

Now, these are not the usual things like "do they think I'm fat" or "do they think I'm boring" but more towards my physical and mental issues.

It's no secret that I hate how I am. I hate that pushing myself makes me worse. I hate that people don't get how different things make me feel. I hate that situations cause me stress and anxiety. I hate that people seem to expect me to do things and run about. I hate that people - still to this day - think I'm faking or over-exaggerating how I am.

And at four in the morning, all that seems worse than normal. Here's my train of thought...

People believe and understand that I am ill... But still expect me to do This, That and The Other without question. When I do do these things, they get funny when I talk about how bad, rough, sick, stressed or generally crap I feel.

Alternatively, people don't believe I am ill... And that in and of itself makes me more fed up, that there are people that call themselves friends or loved ones that simply believe me to be acting this way for... I don't know what.. Attention? To claim my meager Support Allowance? To get out of work?

I hate that people don't get me. I hate that people don't understand how things affect me, how different situations cause me physical pain, physical & mental exhaustion, and mental stress & anxiety. How I have to decide if I'm going to spend energy on making myself some tea and toast, or save that energy to cut up some vegetables at dinner time. The lack of will to do anything, as every day makes me struggle to just get out of bed - either physically or mentally.

I would love people to understand how I feel on a regular basis, of the things that upset me, stress me out, the pain and hurt I have to deal with to do day-to-day things that everyone else takes for granted. Some of you might be reading this thinking I'm dropping a Drama Bomb. That I'm "just tired" or that I'm "over-complicating" things. It's just the pain, the tiredness, the depression...

If you're one of these people that think I'm just doing it for attention or a laugh, I would rather you said so, and just stopped being in my life. I know you can't please all the people all the time, but some days, I'm sure I don't please anyone... But I'm fed up with saying the same crap over and over, to people that just don't give a f$ck. It's my energy I'm wasting.

I hate how I am. Some days, I hate WHO I am. I'm sick of feeling horrible all the time. I hate trying to explain how I feel all the time. I hate knowing there are people out there that will nod and offer hollow platitudes, only to turn around and poo poo me.

It is all too much so often - but I grin, bear it, and carry on plodding as best I can. But it is so difficult to keep going. Especially when I feel like this.

I don't want sympathy. I just want people to understand.

Sweet Sixteen

It's hard to imagine, and hard to write this - hence the delay in posting. But today, my beautiful angel, Bethany, would have been sixteen years old...

I can't wrap my head around it. Today, I've been flashing back to the day that she was born, and my memories are as fresh as they've always been. But those memories were intermingled with the day she left.

For the most part I've kept to myself today... Been watching TV, playing on my tablet, trying to keep myself busy. But now at half one in the morning, I'm laying in bed trying to keep my mind out of the bad places, remembering my Bethy as the beautiful, mad, funny, slightly mad little girl that I miss so dearly.

My beautiful girl, Bethy... 

Happy birthday my little angel. I can't believe you would be sixteen today. Where ever you might be, I can only imagine how gorgeous you must be, let alone the sort of person you would be. 

I am sure you are as brave and strong as you always were, and I know you are a beautiful girl. Friendly. Happy. Cheerful. Nothing phasing you as ever. 

I imagine you dancing, and doing every single thing you always wanted to do, without any limitations, nothing stopping you. At sixteen, I know you would be planning your future, college, work... I dread to imagine how many boys you would have wrapped around your little finger - the way I always was. But know that all those boys would have to go through your daddy first. 

Wherever you are, my sweet girl, whatever you are doing, I hope you are happy. That's all I have ever wanted for you. I just wish I could see you dancing, see the girl - the young woman - you would be turning into. I am absolutely sure you would be leading Poppy on with her shenanigans as well, and she would love her big sister. 

I miss you so very much my Bethy. I think about you all the time, I miss you, but love you so very much. 

Happy birthday Bethany. And remember, no matter what, I see you baby. 

I see you. 

Lots of love, 

Daddy x

Pain

There is something about pain that is so hard to deal with. Anyone that suffers from any kind of chronic pain condition might understand what I'm saying, but of late, it's something I've found to be has to deal with.

First off, when you tell someone you're in pain, straight away there's the whole faith part of it. You can't see pain, so when you tell people you're in agony, they either believe you or they don't. I find that one of the hardest parts to cope with - thinking people don't believe me. You wonder if people think you're just making excuses, or trying to get out of something, or just trying to get sympathy...

I hate feeling like that. I hate it wondering if people are inwardly rolling their eyes, "Dan's claiming to be in pain again..." or that they think I'm being lazy and just want to stay on the sofa. Then there's the "Well you've just done X, Y or Z - it can't be THAT bad!" attitude of people. No, my pain isn't gone. More manageable at that point maybe, or I'm just pissed off and NEED to do something, and pushing through it... That doesn't mean I can do it all the time, and usually I end up feeling even worse than before.

Trying to explain pain to someone - be it a friend, family member, or medical professional - is so difficult. The 1-10 scale is kind of bizarre. The type of pain is really hard for me to explain in terms that it makes sense. I sometimes try to explain one of my pains like "hot water being poured down my leg" but that doesn't cover it. If you poured hot water down your leg, yes it would hurt, but it wouldn't be what I'm feeling. Cramping pains, stabbing pains, sharp pains, throwing pains, burning pains, shooting pains... If you think about it, none of these make sense. But then, if I try explaining it like someone is crushing my muscles, or grinding my bones together, that's literally the only way I can describe it, but it's never accurate.

The worst part is how pain affects a person - and I'm sure it is different for everyone. Pain is tiring. It wears you down, gets on top of you, and affects you mentally. Some days, I hurt so much, it makes my cognitive jumble seem worse. I used to be a healthy, active person, and the pain I feel reminds me I never used to feel like this. I could go somewhere, charge around all day, get home, cook, have friends over, play games til the middle of the night, have a few hours sleep, walk to work... And on and on. Now, my pain is always there, always on, always reminding me that I can't do what I used to do - let alone, I can't do what I WANT to do. Getting out of bed, getting dressed, walking down a half dozen stairs... My pain adds to my exhaustion. And yet, despite how I feel, I worry that people see me sitting on the sofa as a sign of me being lazy, that I did X earlier, therefore I should be able to do Y...

This last week-and-a-bit has been rough, which has made me sleep less than usual and be busier than usual. Today, I am literally running on fumes. I have been dropping stuff, spilling things, bumbling and bumping into things. I'm tired and feel like crap.

But, despite this, I'm upright, sat on the floor playing with Poppy, while My Little Pony is on (again). I just wish people understood a little better that when I (or anyone that suffers) say they're in pain, there is so much more to it than just an achey limb or whatever.

End Of My Rope (Again)



So, assuming I've done it right, the image above sums up how I'm doing of late. And, if I'm honest, it's not what you'd call "great" or anything in that general area.

Tonight's insomnia is less insomnia, more my M.E being its usual wanky self. The last couple of days have been slightly more active than usual, and because I took extra spoons out of my week, I am now suffering. I am exhausted. Full-on, completely and utterly exhausted. I've even swapped from my tablet to my phone to write this post, as the tablet is too heavy.

I just want to sleep. That's not a big ask. But I am in more pain than usual tonight, thanks to the aforementioned busy days. My legs and back are pulsing in time to my heart beat. My shoulders ache. My hands feel like they're two sizes too big. And I'm fluctuating from "brrr chilly!" to "holy f$ck heat!" which is great fun too.

All this is taking its toll on happy old Dan. I know I'm moody and grumpy and short tempered and tearful and miserable... And the hardest part is trying to get people to understand and to realise that I am struggling as much as I am. "Oh Dan hasn't been in contact, and when he is all he does is moan" No, I haven't, but that's because I can't focus on any one thing. I can wake up and think about all the simple things I need to do, but by the time I've struggled into clothing, made my way down five stairs, and performed the miraculous tasks of Making Coffee and Poppy's Breakfast, I am tired. Anything past that is little more than pushing myself...

And then I end up here again. Laying in bed at 3am feeling crap, listening to Kellie snore, Poppy fidget, and the cats marauding around the house. Five o clock rolls around, and I flake out, only to have to be up again within a couple of hours.

I've tried a routine of being awake in the night and doing stuff - reading, watching TV, listening to music, playing a game - instead of trying to sleep, but all that achieved was me being more awake for longer. Object defeated.

I know I need to get back to my GP. I know I need my med dosages - all my meds - increased. And I try to stay positive that "these are the ones that will help" but know in the back of my mind, I'll have a few months of them taking the edge off, until my body decides they're crap, and to metabolise them quicker than they can help me.

3am is quiet. Mostly. Aside from the snoring/fidgeting/marauding. I hear the occasional but of traffic. Oddly, I just hear a load of seagulls bitching somewhere about something. Occasionally I'll hear a fox screaming somewhere, or cats rowing over territory. But 3am is mostly just quiet. Which you would think is nice. But my brain doesn't like the quiet. If it's not showing my streams of random flashcards (I don't know if I've explained that before...), it'll be going over everything it thinks I need to think about. Conversations I've had. Situations people are dealing with. Arguments and how I should have responded. Conversations in the future. Plus I random check the doors are locked because, hell, why not have some random paranoia too.

And so, I lay here, wanting nothing more than to sleep, but knowing full well the pain, the miserable mood, the anxiety - all these little things conspiring to prevent me from sleeping..

I know I'm getting worse as time goes by. That's not new information. But I wish I could get worse BUT manage the pain and mood better than I am. And to sleep. Again, it doesn't seem like an unreasonable request...

I know I've been radio silent for a while. I've not been on Facebook in over a year. I occasionally use Twitter. I sometimes post to Instagram. My poor blog is neglected. But despite this being my little corner of the web where I can prattle on about whatever I want, I feel like I'm just moaning and being very much "woe is me", knowing full well that some of you reading still believe there's sod-all wrong with me. That I'm being dramatic. Attention seeking.

If that were true, I'd like my Oscar now please.

The Tasmanian Devil

So, yesterday evening, I decided I'd chill out with a mug of green tea. It - and chamomile - are the only "herbal" teas I enjoy. Of course, Poppy being Poppy, she wanted to try some, so I let her try a little.

And of course, Poppy being Poppy, she enjoyed it. So I tried a little more, and she still liked it. In the end, being the wonderful amazing daddy that I am, I made her her own cup of green tea (in one of her sippy cups, duh).

I had no issue with her having it. She likes caffeine-free tea now and then, and so I figured with green tea being naturally caffeine-free, she could have it without any issues.

Just over an hour later, Kellie and I decided it was bedtime. I was exhausted, and so we took madam to bed too. We tried to give her her bottle, she didn't want it - she was happier beating the crap out of me. I put Adventure Time on for her, but she didn't want to watch it - she was happier beating the crap out of me. I put on some music for her but, you guessed it - she was happier beating the crap out of me...

She was all over the place. Bouncing and jumping and rolling around and literally - no, LITERALLY - trying to climb the walls.

We could not figure what was going on. I thought she might be over-tired as she had refused to nap all day. Maybe it was the single bite of biscuit she had just before bed that Kellie gave her. Maybe she was hungry..

For nearly three hours, that child was literally the child of the Tasmanian Devil - she was a little whirlwind of destruction. Finally, she literally dropped where she was, three quarters of the way down the bed, pointing the wrong way, between our legs.

This morning, out of curiosity more than anything, I checked the caffeine content of green tea. I figured that there must be some sort of leftover amount - maybe that caused her to be mental?

Turns out, Green Tea and Normal Tea come from the same plant. Turns out, it's not caffeine-free. Turns out, if you let it steep for a while and agitate it (you know, like I do...) it increases the caffeine content. Turns out, if you give a baby a cup of Green Tea, they go bananas and end up jacked-up on an obscene amount of caffeine.

Today, I am fully, completely, utterly exhausted. I'm going to have some Green Tea to wake me up. Poppy is going to have some milk...

The Moral? If your wife says "Yes it should be ok" but that SAME person, only hours earlier, makes the comment "I didn't realise Egypt was part of Africa", check with a professional first!

Ah The Joys...



There is something about insomnia, or my body clock, or my brain, that is just bizarre. Or humans in general? Whatever it is, I don't get it. I don't understand how I can be exhausted all day long, and decide an early night is what I need - only to find myself still wide awake seven hours later.

It's pushing 4am here and obviously, no other bastard is awake. I've always been a night owl, but when I have something to do - gaming, movie marathons, binge-watching TV shows - but I read for a few hours, couldn't keep my eyes open, curled up, and...

Well, the bit that follows the "and" is still in progress.

Yes, I've got crap on my mind.
Yes, I'm hurting.
Yes, I feel crap.

But I wouldn't say any more than normal. And no, I can't just "clear my mind" nor take more meds, nor deal with it or anything else equally helpful.

And now I can hear a blackbird starting to gear up for the Dawn Chorus.

I know what's going to happen... I'll wake up either early (Poppy'd Awake), or manage a lay in. Then by lunch I'll be exhausted and force myself to stay awake. By mid-afternoon I will doze off: my body we just thrown in a big fat NOPE and I'll sleep for an hour. Then the rest of the day will be me struggling to stay with it to function. I'll get into bed between half eight and, say, ten... And here I'll be this time tomorrow.

I hate it and I'm sick of it. But as ever in my long history of insomnia, I refuse to take meds to put me to sleep. I don't want to end up on more drugs, especially things as addictive and nasty as sleeping tablets. Any if you can't your minds back, you'll remember I tried Melatonin for a few months, and that stopped working too.

I'm just fed up. I'm sick of feeling crap all the time. I'm sick of fighting feeling shit all the time. I'm sick of people getting arsey with me for not doing as much as they feel I should, and on the other side of that shitty coin, getting arsey because I have to change plans because I pushed myself too far and made myself worse. The stigma I face from people that still - STILL - don't get it, after so many years of me being like this, I hate it. I hate the looks and the "funny" jokes, and the whispered comments to others, and the outright bluntness and disbelieving at how I can be, and how I am...

I just feel that everything has been an uphill struggle for so long, the fight is slowly ebbing away. But I will carry on, watching the sky change colour while I lay awake all night, ignore the sounds I make trying to dress or shower or walk up four stairs, just accept the shitty feelings and side effects I get from my meds, and do my best to draw a smile on my face, tell people "I'm ok" and just carry on as usual until... I don't know... The miraculous cure some people seem to think will happen. Or I get caught up in my own neurosis. Or I manage to "just get over it" as is often advised to me.

But for now at four in the morning, I will carry on trying to sleep, knowing tomorrow I'll be equally as moody and stressy, and just plod on.

Long Time, No Sleep

It's been a long long time since I put in an appearance online. I've not blogged in a long time, haven't been on Facebook since last Autumn, Twitter only sporadically, and Instagram only now & then. The last couple of months have been long, hard and arduous... And the fact I'm here at half three in the morning should also suggest how well I'm coping with my insomnia, let alone everything else.

Physically and Mentally, I have been really struggling. With everything. My body feels like it is just done before I actually manage anything, and my brain doesn't know WHAT the fuck it's doing most of the time. I'm depressed, stressed, nervous, worried, paranoid, anxious... I'm past the point of being "tired" almost every day before I even force myself out of bed. One or two chores, and that's me wiped out for the rest of the day, and usuallly the following day as well.

I know most people don't want to read me moaning and whinging about poor old me, but it's gotten to the point where I don't talk about me much any more. People might ask how I am, and I'm given the option of either A) saying the same shit I always say, or B) lie about how I'm feeling. And neither are much of an option. My sleep patterns are screwed beyond belief, my migraines have increased in both frequency AND intensity (now I am usually sick with them, as opposed to vomiting being a rarity), and my pain levels are generally at the point where most things out actions cause additional pain.

As a general rule, my brain was never the most quiet of minds in the world, but over the last couple of months, it's gotten steadily noisier. Flashbacks to shit I've been through. Dwelling on stuff going on. Worrying about things that may be nothing or may be the end of the world. Reliving crap. Obsessing over random things. And that's on top of all the other shit it throws out as "normal" with random questions, forgetting everything from names to dates to things I'm supposed to be doing, plus the bizarre thoughts and the odd "flash-card" type phenomenon I deal with.

I just feel like a great big useless lump of fat, in everyone's way, pissing everyone off, upsetting people, doing the wrong things, saying the wrong things - or on the flip side, not doing the right things and not saying the right things - in my mind, there's a difference.

I've just been finding it very hard to make people understand how I feel. I struggle to talk, I can't open up, and generally the only time I can get any sort of order to my scrambled grey matter is by just writing, and seeing what comes out. I would love nothing more than to be at work, and failing that, to get up, sort the kids out, see Kellie out, spend the day with Poppy whilst clearing and tidying every aspect of the house, cooking dinner, helping kids with homework, keeping fit... But most days, it's all I can do to put clothing on myself. I feel like I make no monetary contribution to the family, and the bare basics I DO manage to do aren't enough, and everyone else has to try picking up the slack. Worse, I force myself to do more - and end up making myself feel even worse for a few days.

I don't know how to fix how I feel, either physically or mentally. People come out with really "helpful" suggestions like, "Try just being happy" or "Push through it and you'll feel better" but they are just words. If I could JUST be happy, I would be. If I could PUSH through the pain I would do so.

I know I've disappeared from a lot of peoples inboxes and text logs, and I'm sorry. I just don't know exactly how to... Be. I know people stop talking to me because they simply don't know what to say when I answer truthfully, and by the same token, I feel like such a crap friend when I can't just go out and do stuff, or don't know what to say or how to deal with people's situations...

I dunno. I'm just rambling at this point I think. My eyes are burning from tiredness, but I can't sleep. My body is aching all over, but my hands and legs are literally throbbing. I need a drink too, but the effort of walking to the kitchen is a bit beyond me at the moment.

Who knows - maybe I feel extra crappy tonight because I'm just so tired. Exhausted, even. My brain has been screaming in my ear since I came to bed many hours ago, so I've opted to try just getting this all typed out without thinking too hard. Open the floodgates, if you will.

With that, I think I've moaned enough, sounded depressed enough, and rambled enough for one evening. I just wish I could expanding myself in a more eloquent fashion, make people realise and understand what I'm going through and how I'm feeling, but better.

And now, the birds are slowly starting to wake up... Hopefully I'll get SOME sleep tonight.

The 21st

So, today is the 21st of February. A day which I feel more than see has arrived. I don't know, maybe I'm attuned to it after so many years, maybe I subconsciously know the date, maybe I'm blocking it out but it still appears.

Today marks eleven years since losing my beautiful little Bethy. Eleven years. Sometimes it seems so raw, other times it just feels like it was a million years ago... Either way, I still remember it so vividly... And that is both a blessing and a curse. I can remember my daughters last day, but I also remember her last day.

It's currently 2am. Yesterday, I spent the morning messing around with Poppy, who then slept like a log, until woken to get ready to go to Kerry & James's. There, we had a few drinks, watched photos and a video from their wedding in August, came home, had burger and chips delivered, I scoffed a butt-load of Jaffa Cakes, and we watched Brooklyn Nine-Nine. After midnight struck, Poppy was tired and restless (AFTER midnight, duh!) so we got into bed, and I've been watching documentaries since, just trying to distract myself.

This year seems and feels different, I think because I have Poppy. Obviously she's not a replacement or anything like that, but she has SO many Bethy Mannerisms, it's spooky. The same "I'm up to no good, but here's a cheesy smile" smile. The same expressions. They look very similar... I'm trying to hang in there, build a bridge, hang tough... But it's so difficult. Obviously Poppy is too young to know or understand anything yet, but she will. It was the same with Tamsyn - she was born four weeks to the day after losing my Bethany.

I am quite tired now, and am considering sleep... I'm just worried I'm going to end up dreaming vivid dreams, reliving shit I don't want to relive. I might try sitting and watching more documentaries, but suspect I'll doze off and miss whatever I'm watching..

Regardless, as usual, my phone will probably sit in the corner being ignored. I get some lovely messages from you lovely people, but some of them are quite hard to read, so I have to leave and avoid for another day.

Also, as I'm posting from my tablet (not sure I want the dark lounge, alone with my thoughts and photos of my angel) the formatting of this entry might be wonky - and I can't post photos until I edit from my laptop... But anyway...


My beautiful darling angel, Bethy,

I can't believe it's been so long - again. I know I probably say that every year, but I cannot believe it's been eleven years since you had to go.

And even after eleven years, I miss you, your cuddles, and your glorious smile. However, I notice that Poppy has developed several behavioural things she could have only picked up from you.

I know you visit. People probably think I'm mad, but I definitely smell things - hospital things usually, so I know you come back to check to up on us.

AND to teach Poppy.

I hope you know, I still talk about you, still think about you almost every day, and still remember you, picturing you swinging from the bannisters or coming running when I got home.

I miss you so much my beautiful little Angel. I have no idea how I made it this far some days, not idea how it made it to eleven years, and yet it is still as fresh and raw as if it has only just happened.

I know, yes, that you HAD to go. Your poor little self had done so much, brought so many people together, raised so much more awareness of CHD... You, my baby, are a wonderful, amazing and very very special little girl. But the selfish part of me hates you had to go, hates that so much happened to someone so pure and innocent, sometime I just want to rage at the world.

I'm sure that, where ever you are, you are having a great time. I am certain you can run now. Fall over and not vomit. Do whatever you want and not get poorly and turn blue. Well, blue-er! But most importantly, I am absolutely, 100% sure, that you are up there Shakin' That Ass!

Just know that you are very much missed by everyone, that so many new people want to meet you, and that I hate you were taken from me so early. You are so loved my Bethy, my little Baby Moo...

I See You, Baby...
Daddy

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