May 28.2

 Took Hazel home today unexpectedly. I told her in passing I had sorted the will out. I don't think she was happy about just being left a sum of money. As it would potentially interfere with her benefits. I think she either wanted a trust setup for her - to get round the rules about inheriting money, or, be left the house as is. Albeit. What would she do with the house with no money to maintain it ? Her benefits would not stretch to that. I had asked her days ago. Would she live in the house if I left it to her ? She didn't know.

After talking to the pension people about the pain in the ass a trust was, and, because of the situation I would have to end up trusting someone I didn't know ( complicated because the trust couldn't be just a single person, so you'd end up in a weird situation of someone I didn't know basically overseeing my estate... ). It just felt like too much of an ask just to cater to the particular shit sandwich that Hazel is in.

So in the end. Just. Sums of money. Done. Easy. What and how you deal with it, is up to you.

In any case. I don't think she was happy. She wanted to know how much so she could know how much to stress about it. I dunno. So I told her.

And then shortly after that. She wanted to go home. So. We did that. Took her home. Thanked her for helping with Athena. And that was that.

It was abrupt. So abrupt she took things off the shopping due tomorrow. Clearly a sudden decision.

But it was time for her to go home.

Even though, I know, for me, the worst bit comes next.

I cried on the way home. Because. It felt like Athena dying all over again. Really the last 2 and a half weeks have just been those plates still up in the air slowly crashing down. And then today. They all smash to the floor. And here is the reality. It is the bulk of the grief unleashed. The trauma. The horrible realities of a change of life after 20 years. The not having a dog around and the silly things you do with them. A huge, kind, silly, bit of my life. Gone. I suppose, thinking about it, all of that is a very clear sign that it's too early for me to be on my own with it. More time to let that grief mellow. That tsunami come down. But. Whatever. A bit of hindsight there. And. Not reality.

Twinges of pain squeezed over my chest on the way home. My arm tingled. My hand went cold. Oh. Now we get a heart attack ? Let me park first. Then we can have a cardiac arrest.

I parked. Not dead. Just a system overloaded with grief perhaps. And poor beaten up body and cardio that have just had one too many thorough kickings. I would guess by this point. Mystery ailments or not. My internals are fucked with the levels of stress hormones that regular flood through them. But this too I have always known. Burning the candle at both ends because of the repeated and prolonged bouts of mental anguish.

I paused in the car. Parked up outside my house.

I am on my own for the first time in over 20 years. I think. It's actually 22 years. Just about.

I was home. And no one was waiting eagerly for me at the front door. Not Ares. Not Athena. Not Poppy. It was a jolt. Unexpected. There was a pattern of behaviour there, always anticipating the key in the door the push and rush at the door. And there was nothing. And you realise that behaviour that is ingrained in you is now... dead. And wont ever be there again.

I moved the bin. Gate open. Front door open. It was another jolt. The instinct to check for closed gates. Runaway dogs. Airlock your access points. No need. Just silence. And emptiness. Do what you like. Open. Closed. Sit on the ground and scream. It doesn't matter anymore. A big part of who I am. My personality. That dog persona. A dog whisperer. Is gone.

I walked into the house numb and in a daze. I had started gathering all the dog beds up into a pile before I left. It was. Excruciating.

I put the dog leads away. Ares old collar still hanging around the dog paraphenalia. I cried my way to the kitchen and put away all the dog bowls. Tipped the water out. Leaving an empty kitchen amongst sobs of tears. It felt like I was putting bits of myself into the trash, piece by piece. The last remnants of me.

Everywhere was a tremor of a dog. Poop bags. The old dish insert we had tried for Ares to slow his eating down but discarded very quickly.

I put it in the bin.

And felt like I was dying.

I cried my way around the house, tidying a few things up. Put the rubbish out - no one eager to go into the front garden with me. No one following me. No presence.

Exhaustion.

I went to bed. And collapsed into an instant deep sleep.

I woke up sometime later. Alone. My head was weird. I had strange bubbles and bouncing shapes in my vision. Weird shapes and colours. Ok.

The house was silent. So quiet. I woke up properly.

No motivation. No energy. No plan. No joy. Nothing.

I dozed for sometime and ignored how hungry I was.

What, did it matter.

I toyed with just staying there. Not eating. Not drinking. Just. Stay there Johnny. Don't move. Just. Fade. You can ignore it all. It goes away. You know it does.

Eventually I decided to not just fade into nothing and got up and went downstairs a mechnical zombie. My pains flaring. Tidied some more. No point. No point at all.

The house was a tomb.

The part of me that chatters in gentle nonsense to the inevitable furry mutt at my feet was silent. That part of me. The silly bit. The sing song bit. Dead. Just me. The machine. And the silence of the house.

I knew it would be awful.

I knew it would be crushing.

The reality was all that and more. The prospect of living for any length of time like this, appalling.

I contemplated that I was much better off with Poppy and Hazel around. But I knew. I couldn't live with Hazel. Too unbalanced. Too mean. Too quick to anger and abuse. But. Maybe that is better than empty.

I went back upstairs with my food, not before turning all the lights out. Silent. And dark. All the life sucked out of this pile of bricks. Just me. Barely alive.

As I got to the top of the stairs I was overcome by the pointlessness of it all. What. On earth. Was I doing. Eating. Going back upstairs. Living out another day. To what. Fucking. End. Just for another day ? Another day of this ? Are you insane ?

I sat and ate. Nursing my variety of symptoms. There was I realised in the sudden deafening silence. A certain peace that came from knowing something else was in the house with you when you weren't feeling well. That on the one hand, I would not wish to leave behind an animal or person in the event I carked it. But there is also a peace to be had from knowing you are not alone with it.

And now I am alone with it. And it's a lot worse.

Occasionally I loudly clicked my juice drink shut. Anxiety. Mania. Trauma. And another jolt. No furry beast came to check what I was doing. Loud noise. What are you doing. Nothing. Just the silence of the house once again. So very. On my own.

I have. Self destructively. Shut all my communications down.

Plunging headlong into that lonely silence. Stick my head in the blender. What the fuck does it matter.

I fleetingly thought, that perhaps what had come before was the end of the middle. And now. I was at the beginning of the end. But so slow. Painfully. Tortuously. Slow. Too slow. I can't be doing this so slowly.

I had thought in previous days, that the house would end up eating me alive. When it came to it.

And here I am.

The house is eating me alive. And it has only just started. I know that bits of the house are going to start feeling off. Weird. Watchful. Neglected. Liminal. Not lived in. Alien.

Suicide skittered across my thoughts. Because. I can't live like this. And the longer it goes. The worse it will get.

There is a cold rationality to it. I have literally zip to live for. I am where I am. It is what it is. And now it's gone from a waiting to naturally cark it, to a, oh, I don't think I can even wait for that.

I will plod on. For the moment. Another day. Maybe. Maybe. I watched TV this evening. And halfway through an old film. A knife popped in my head. I could just. Go get the kitchen knife. Right now. No big deal. Come back to bed. See how it feels. Push. Watch TV. Chill. Bleed. So simple.

I didn't get up. Didn't get the knife. Moved on past the thought. And watched TV. But it was there. Very clear. Very sharp. Very real. So easy. Oh. Sure. A plan. Plans are easy.

Where I am. It was always going to be this way. There was never any other outcome. And in the end. Everyone has to face an end. If you're lucky. You never realise it. And you're gone. If you're unlucky you get to suffer with it first. Watch it like a slow oncoming train.

I have work tomorrow. Which I will endeavour to do. And then. And then. Five days of staring at the walls seems.. a very... hard.. ask.

I think in reality. I need something in this house with me. Something alive. Something that cares about me. And is happy just to be there. Without that. Yeah.

But also in reality.

That's not going to happen.

Sleep. Stop eating. Drink a little. Sleep.

Like I was prophesising, I had already earlier in the day given warning to Andy that I might not be around for too much longer. We had interviewed someone promising that would do pretty well in covering some of the holes of the business. And would mean. I could drop dead. And the business would hopefully not implode. Today at work, was very much about planning my demise and how not to take the ship down with me. And this was in the morning. Before I knew how the rest of the day would shape up.

None of it is rocket science. Just a series of inevitabilities.

I have nothing to say that is positive. No hope to give. Just misery and darkness. Leave me to it.