It’s Sunday

Sunday’s are the most brutal. 28 years and to be honest, not many Sunday’s have ever been spent alone, mostly of course with Brian.

Today, I haven’t done much. Maybe running right now would help, I’m out with an injury until Tuesday.

I just had a call from the Crisis centre making sure that I will be there for the appointment tomorrow. I can’t ever see the point in calling them, they only truly seem interested in suicide watching, making sure it doesn’t happen that night/day.

Suicide has again today been at the forefront of my thoughts. ‘What would Brian think?’ Brian has gone and I don’t know what he would think. He would tell me to live. Living feels so incredibly lonely. I actually think he might understand if he could see how much I’m hurting.

It hit me today when I was walking the streets of London, openly crying with every step, I’ve really managed to cut myself off from everyone. Not that I had many people to speak to. The ones I am, I realise that I’ve stopped being honest with my feelings to them. Others aren’t calling any longer.

I can probably (and will) go for weeks without seeing anyone. An odd juxtaposition – I want to be alone, but a side of me quakes in fear of how unhealthy that is.

I’m flipping a coin in my head – to get better, to give it up………

All I know is that I want this pain to stop, I want to have a day where the crying doesn’t feel endless.