Heavy Hearts, Battered Minds

Last month I gave quite a dim view of the current situation. In truth, I don’t remember what I wrote nor do I have the desire to read it again. I was in a dark place and I still am very much in that dark place. Facing death. Dealing with grief. And all whilst he’s still here. It begs the question. Would we die knowingly or die with surprise, so to speak. I always thought I would want to know so I could milk each moment, but with the pain, the suffering and the endless torture, I know I’d rather be left out of the loop.

I mentioned giving up my Masters and though I have given a last ditch attempt this past month in trying to get back on track, in return I have put pain back on to myself. My mind is tortured. I have no motivation, no energy, no desire… nothing. Just upset and the want to sleep through each day. With that I decided this morning that it couldn’t go on. Whilst I sat with my Father in the early hours feeding him morphine, sorting tablets and prescriptions and holding his hand to help him sleep, I realised that this had to be it. This was all I could give and I owed him so much of my time and what little energy I can hold. In the past five minutes I e-mailed my Course Administrator to inform her of my final decision to withdraw from the course.

There are positives. I have sent off my Teaching application and am currently catching up and refreshing my knowledge of Computer Science. Hopefully, in the Autumn I will be moving into a career that I had spent many years willing to be a part of and in a subject that is vast, new and full of opportunity. That is my shred of hope.

I have wanted to write. To write about it all but when I face a blank page it’s as if my fingers become disconnected and my mind is flooded with concrete. Even now for the past five minutes I’ve fiddled around with lip balm and hair clips because I just can’t bring into a sentence what I feel. I think it all stems from people asking how you are and knowing you can’t give a truthful answer. Nobody wants to know about the girl who’s father is dying. Nor do I want to be crying in public to people who barely know me.

See, I don’t even know how to finish this post. So I’ll leave it here. I’ll try and write some more short stories as the escapism is good for my mind. And maybe start doing some book reviews as I have been knee deep in reading these past few months. Maybe motivation will strike again sometime soon.

K.

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About katiebagshawe

Writings. Wolfmother.
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