Jul 29

 Over the course of yesterday my swollen throat got better... only for it to once again flare up overnight badly. A closed throat that hurts a lot when swallowing and a stuffed feeling in the back of your throat like something is stuck there.

Eh well. I didn't feel too good today, as in, under the weather. In the scale of things it was nothing. I've fared far worse. It layered on top of my exhaustion and other bullshit, but the other bullshit took a backseat. A little calmer. Perhaps. Because the immune system has a genuine target rather than just targetting me in general ? Who knows.

Today I have done arse all. Barely left bed. Slept. Watched TV. Got a little food. Spent some time on the computer. I have felt my usual exhausted and also that under the weather tiredness on top. I felt like I could just fold into the bed and never get up again. It crossed my mind to do just that. Just. Don't leave bed. Give up. Stop talking to people. Finally given in to that slow, dozy, uncomfortable evaporation. It would. Be easy. So very very easy. 

I didn't discard it. I left that thought sitting there. Perhaps.

Everyday, almost every hour, I deal with a sense of loss. It is all pervading. Deep. Oddly the loss of Athena has made me feel the loss of my mom more keenly too. I am not sure why. Perhaps it's that general state of being alone. Whilst Athena was around it was less noticeable. With her gone, I am just left with that stark loneliness. It is also odd because for sure my relationship with my mom during my childhood was difficult, if not outright traumatic. So. It's not like she was a beacon of light I am sad at losing. Then again. Our relationship when I was an older adult was much better. Complicated.

As I pad around my house, to the kitchen, to the loo, I am bombarded with memories at each point. The spot where Ares slept. The spot where Athena slept. Their marks on the wall. My moms shower scrub still in my bathroom. The mark of her blood on the door where she knocked her finger. The toys. The balls. The scuffs. In some ways it is like a haunted museum of everything that was. And nothing about what will be. Just memories and things of a time now gone.

So. Yeah. I deal with that. A hundred micro aggressions every day. I try not to let them get out of hand. Gently touch on them and move on.

I think perhaps. In a different perfect world. It would probably be an idea to pluck me from this house, set me up somewhere entirely different, entirely new. And let the past settle without constant reminders. That in itself would be a terrible wrench for me though. It would feel like I would be losing them again. As those anchors were removed. But. I suspect. It would probably be a cruelty to be kind. A final wrench out of my grip to let me sleep easier. Maybe.

But it's not a perfect world. And I have no desire or capacity to do that for myself. Up sticks. And just shift.

I am also certain now that I don't want to move closer to my family. For good or ill. I am resolved, finally. No matter my difficulty, I will not be moving. That is not to say I am against moving. I feel like in a better mood and better capability, I would like to move. But just not to my family. The reasons are multi faceted. But perhaps the stand outs are :

One - I don't particularly like where my family live. It's nice enough. Better than London for sure. But I find it to be an odd mix of Essex, countryside and deprivation. It is a satellite of Clacton. One of the most deprived places in the UK. It is in the locale of Jaywick. The most deprived place in the UK. The area is nice enough. As it goes. But it does have that "Essex" reek to it. All mouth. No trousers. The countryside is green. Which is good. But uninspiring. Its coastal areas are... poor. Dreary. Small. Estuary. It is far better than London. But it's not a charming place.

Two - It is isolated. No amenities. No cities. No life. It has a number of scattered places around it, the nearest being Colchester. I worked for many years in Colchester. I am familiar with it. It is. Adequate. At best. Essex-y. Unsophisticated. But. I can live with isolation if it's a good kind of isolation. But this is again, and Essex kind of isolation. I don't know. It's not great.

Three - Family. Over the last six months I have realised that despite efforts in both directions. I will forever be a neglected satellite. I am, unimportant. Forgotten. I am not blaming anyone here. It is just a fact. Moving down to my family would be a terrible mistake I think. Because. I would end up being closer. And the metaphysical distance would become even more apparent. When you live a few hours away, the reasons for not seeing people. No visits. Are distance. When you are 5 minutes around the corner, that excuse disappears. And then it just becomes more apparent how much "distance" there really is there. Again I am not blaming anyone per se. It just is... the pattern of my family. I have been through absolutely hellfire these last six months or more. Awful. And I can count on one hand the number of times I have spoken to my family. They are busy. Or not. There is no urgency there. No care. I am sure they do care, in their own ways. But not in a way that makes a real difference to my life if that makes sense. I need people in my life that are present. And this has always been the pattern. I think my sister has visited me 3 times in 30 years or so of living where I do. My brother is the same. And two of those only in bad situations. Again I am not blaming anyone. But it is indicative of the relationship there. You. Do. Not. Have. A. Close. Relationship. With. Someone. That. Visits. You. Once. Every. Decade.

The other way around I have lost count of the number of times I have visited them. It's not a huge amount. But more than you can easily track. It is me. Pursuing them. It was always that way. Always and ever.

Both my brother and sister think I should move down to them. It would be better. We could do things. See more of each other. More support. It is the distance that is the problem. Is it though. My brother often comes up to Norfolk on trips. To visit his daughter in law. Or caravan. Sometimes only miles down the road.

I don't see him.

He comes. He goes. I don't see him. No distance. I. Don't. See. Him.

It is my belief. That it is wishful thinking if I were to move, suddenly we'd all be a lot closer.

I am pretty sure what would happen is. I would move there. And we would all be fucking seperate. And yet only a few miles apart. Sure. No doubt. We would at times, perhaps, once in a blue moon, do something. But it would be very poor. It would in fact be, that entirely dysfunctional relationship we have, struggling to be anywhere near ballpark normal, and assuming that it was normal. When in fact it would be fucked up.

I am more than aware enough to know what it is normal and what isn't.

I don't believe I will ever have a normal relationship with my family. Ever. It is not going to fix itself. People are not going to change. The damage is done. The die is set. It is, what it is.

Fundamentally. I do not have that relationship with my family. I wish I did. I don't. That is how it is.

The one exception would probably be my nephew. Who I think would actually come and see me a lot. But that. Is another story, and another set of complicated motivations I think. Escaping my sister. Filling his sons time with something interesting to do. I would partly end up as a surrogate adult figure. Something. I don't want to be. I am sick of being responsible for shit. I definitely don't want to raise a difficult teenager. It's clear my nephew does give a shit about me. And wants to help. But he brings his own baggage with him, as we all do of course. I have no problem listening to people. Being there for them. But I don't want to raise their children. Or end up as a proxy responsibility dump. Which. Being brutal. My nephew is guilty of doing. As is my niece. My sisters plate is full because of both of those things. It was one of the reasons she moved ( but that just precipitated moving the whole family along with her - everyone has now left London ).

So in the end.

A move to my family would be a bad idea. No fingers pointed. No blame. But we are all damaged from our parents upbringing. And in my siblings case, their capability to maintain those familiar ties is awful. We are not a close family.

I know this. Of the friends I have. Ex girlfriends. Acquaintances. So many of them have closer ties to me than my family. In some respects they are like my actual family.

It is a sad thing. I am not happy about it. I wish I did have a family that was closer. Tighter. Far more supportive. I see it in other families. I don't have that. Never have. Never will.

In a really fucked up way, both me and my siblings live in a quasi orphaned state. Our familial ties are sketchy. Background. Happenstance. Non existent in some places. It is never mentioned. But probably the lack of blood bond there too, the different father, same mother, causes complications. The old man is just my old man. And step father to my brother and sister. And not a nice one at that. Complicated. Add in that my brother never saw eye to eye with my mom at all. And in his own words thought of her at best as a distant aunt. Not his mom. In a very real way. You can see my brother is, in so many words, an orphan. The same goes with my sister.

Ho hum.

I think my life, in hindsight, has always been about trying to create close relationships with people. Perhaps unknowingly always trying to fill the void that my family represented. Trying in some unconscious haphazard way to create a caring environment where we all care for each other. I was always quick to trust people. Quick to fall in love. Quick to want to be close. Nowadays. I am scarred. Love for anyone new is like a dead and barren field. I am wary and traumatised of it. I am bereft of hope of things ever working out. But I was not always like that. Perhaps that also begins to shine a light on why I take loss so hard. Why losing Athena, that final straw has been such a seismic loss. I always knew it would be. I could see the shape of that path from many years out.

I have never had a plan in my life. I am not some grand strategiser, despite being clever, I have never looked at life like that. Perhaps I should have taken that more seriously. The problem is at my heart I am forever a kid. I like solving puzzles. But not planning the long game. I like smiles and hugs. But not sensible finances or career moves. I have been fortunate enough that being clever has enabled me to get to a point where it doesnt matter about my career or finances. But it is more accident and necessity than any plan. I always imagined, somewhere along the way, everything would just work out. But it hasn't happened like that. At least. Not in any way that I can understand. I suppose some, given my current position ( and assuming some miraculous improvement in health ), would jump at being able to travel around the world, live in any number of places, experience everything without worrying about finances or jobs. But that, is not what I am about.

As ever, my usual current refrain. I do not understand life. I do not understand any of it. I am lost. All I have is sadness.