The Pit

The trip to Hong Kong did me a power of good but don’t think that the answer to grief is just to get away for a week. It doesn’t work like that.

I immediately got back to post a regular track to my MixTape’88 list; sometimes commenting and posting a story to go along with it, sometimes not. They were comforting though, even though they were also sometimes painful. And then on March 5th, the pit opened up again.

I sometimes wonder how some of you view these posts; many of you people I only ‘know’ through WestHamOnline, ‘Nightmare’ or ESPN. How would I see these posts if I saw them three years ago? Would I despair at someone laying out his life on social media? I expect so. A few years ago it was witty banter about football. Yet here I am. One of the problems of being an only child, I guess. No-one to vent to. But it was one of those days today, one of those where the pit opens and you tumble into a meaningless void of black treacle where nothing makes sense and you can’t pull yourself free. I’ve not done this much since last July but one of those where I had to buy a bottle of JD Tennessee Fire as I left ASDA. I sat in a restaurant in a hotel tonight, tears streaming down my face, wanting desperately to scream, barely comprehending what I’m doing here – and by here I could mean Folkestone or the planet. I’m not suggesting you give it as a present, but grief really is a gift that keeps on giving. It was a day where the pain of loss just tears at your soul; her laughter, voice, smell, touch, feel, intelligence, humour, beauty – all gone. And why? And where? A day where you desperately want to believe in some God or Afterlife so it all makes sense; yet you want to grab that God by the throat and ask why? Really? There was no-one more suitable to take early? Seriously God, here’s a list with a few names you may have missed….

I need to find a better outlet than this, I know. I will do it eventually. I don’t even know if I will post this. If you’re reading it you know Mr Daniels won.

That was written during a business away trip and I realised I found those most difficult to deal with. In better days, Gail would often accompany me on those trips certainly, but what I realised was I felt more in touch with things if I was at home where Gail was. Seeing parts of England I wouldn’t have otherwise seen wasn’t of any comfort and I’ve tried to curtail those now as much as possible. Ultimately though, when those days turn up – and don’t pretend just because I don’t talk about them all the time they don’t turn up a lot – there’s nothing you can do. I call them the ‘Dark Pit’ days. And when they arrive don’t hold onto the edges of the pit, because it will just wait for your grip to fail. And fail it will.

 

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