So here we are back in the rain and it’s not so bad. I had a full day yesterday which included tracking down where the smell of poo was emanating from … Finally found 5 under the loft bed where our poor cat had been cowering terrorised by ginger Tom. My daughter loves all the cats who visit and poor Bailey suffers. Ginger is unmistakeably the boss with his big ginger body and unblinking implacable stare. He is a handsome fellow – reminds me of the cat in Alice in Wonderland.
I also bought a chefs knife – oh my cutting is such a pleasure with it!! I got kilos of tomatoes, onions and made the Sicilian sauce. It was far more watery than I remembered it! Perhaps I need to boil it with the lid off more? Or perhaps my tomatoes were just not as good – Italian cooking is after all only really the best ingredients simply prepared… Also a pasta roller so look forward to seeing some attempts!
Among the piles of washing and unpacking I also saw two friends (one cooked me Sunday lunch) and made some calls. I’ve been looking forward to speaking to Rachel for a while. She distinguished for me that he did not really love me, if he did he would not be treating me this way, that he was a baby who had been acting completely on his emotions of the day, that he was very enrolling and probably enrolling her as well as me. That neither of us would ever be able to trust him.
I recounted the conversation I had had my psychotherapist friend on the beach in Sampieri and she agreed with my friend’s diagnosis. I asked her how I was going to feel better. That it felt like I had employed every coping strategy under the sun and was still suffering from the tight jaws and anxiety. That lately I could not see his name or a photo or think of the things we’d done without welling up.
She told me that dwelling in it was the one thing I probably hadn’t done enough of. That facing the pain head on rather than continually looking for a new activity to help me cope was probably what I needed to do. She said that it would pass but would take as long as it took and that right now I am still stuck like Velcro. That I should give myself permission to feel what I am feeling without continually thinking there’s something wrong. That friends who were fed up with my grief could just go on hold for a while – it was a huge thing I had gone through and better to process it than bring it into the next relationship. She also talked about routine helping, taking control of diet and exercise help – as well as looking after myself.
Last night once my chores were complete I sat on the sofa and for the first time had a good cry thinking about all the great times we had. That I had wanted to give him everything to make his life nice – expressing my love though cooking for him, getting into competition with his mum about who made the best sandwiches. I loved him so much.
It’s hard not to think about how compromised his life now is too having been shown that love. And it is, I just know it.
I read this blog over the last few weeks and was surprised at how often even a week or so out I had thought my grief was over and that that was naive. It’s been a long drawn out process for a breakup and the process isn’t over yet.
My colleagues at work and I had speculated that my holiday would be the final piece of the puzzle for my moving on with my life. Seems I am not there yet and that time not filled by work has made me more introspective. Perhaps not a bad thing for someone normally so driven and controlling.