Sunday, 30 June 2013

You broke my brain

If I could see you for just five minutes. If I could hug you and remember what you smell like and exactly what your voice sounds like. If I could just have you back to talk to, to get your advice, to get your support. If that could happen, I feel like I'd be able to breathe properly. For the first time in 13 years.

I can talk about you without crying now, but only if I skirt around it in my head. Luckily, I spose, I don't really talk about you often. I'd like to but I know that people feel uncomfortable when I do. What can anyone say anyway? I want to be around people who knew you so that they can understand what you meant to me. I want to take the memories from everyone who did meet you and keep them for myself, so I can get more memory playback in my head.

It's not even like I think about you every minute of every day; it's more like the thought of you is just part of me now. You're always in the background. You flit through my mind constantly through the day. When I hear someone say something that I know that you and I would find hilarious I remember how we would only have to look at each other to know exactly what the other is thinking. And usually it was something snarky and amusing only to ourselves.

I think about you every time I make a decision to do with a job or a place to live or what the hell I should do with my life. I don't know if you dying when you did has contributed to my inability to stick in one place and do one thing for a long time. I can't settle. I don't feel like I've been able to settle ever. And when you died and shattered the whole world, I felt like the sharpness of everything increased for a time. I could see more clearly and I knew that nothing mattered anymore.

And now, 13 years on, I don't seem to be able to commit to even the idea of a relationship or a long term office job, I don't seem to be able to ever imagine myself not feeling hemmed in and restless and claustrophobic. And it doesn't matter where I travel to or where I live, that sense of restlessness won't go away. And I think it's because there is something so fundamentally missing from my life and it was torn away too abruptly. I feel like my brain schismed that day and, although it's fused back together, it's disjointed somehow. You broke my brain, man.

So I'm sort of in limbo, waiting for you to come back I think. I sort of feel like I haven't been able to breathe properly since the day you died. I feel like Poppy looked when she went round the house looking for you for a few weeks after you were cremated. I feel like I'll never stop looking for you round every corner, or in every branch of WH Smith or HMV - we must have gone to those shops a lot because I still find myself expecting to see you having a sneaky read in the magazine section like we used to.

I still feel like you'll call me one day and it will all be some, weird Reggie Perrin mistake and then you'll be back home with mum. How it should be. How it always should be.

I don't really know what to do without you dad. I am trying though. I promise.

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