I am in a weird place. 

A place where I am lost – and not in a fun, let’s take a different route lost. 

Jill and I talked on my way home from work today. She asked me some tough questions. She said things I needed to hear. Said things I didn’t want to hear. And I know if I had been talking to Karin or Janis they would have said the same things. Mum or Aunt Sara the same. All with varying degrees of harshness. 

I don’t want to love again. I don’t want anyone in my life, in that way. The last sex I had, could just be that. I don’t want any one to touch me. Physically or emotionally. Even typing that I can see how insane, and dramatic that sounds, but the truth of it I feel, as if it was a solid thing in my hands. 

There was a tumblr that I used to follow (until he closed it down) “Anarchy and Scotch” – I miss it. He was funny, well written, sometimes poignant or thought provoking. Obviously a very smart man – completely SFW, with the exception of some odd swearing. He was (and I suppose still is somewhere) a ex-journalist, turned professor of journalism, out east. Married to a sweet woman –  I loved the posts he made about their marriage.  Adorable. Anyway, I was reading one of his posts, and it was at a particularly bad time last year. He talked about something I had been thinking about myself, in the same deadly calm my own mind did. 

He told his readers, “Don’t send me a bunch of concerned emails, asks, this is me venting, speaking my mind. I’ve thought this way for years and I’m still here.”  This is me venting too.

He talked about killing himself, in a way that someone would discuss  the pros and cons of a big life change… well, I guess it *is* a big one. Heh. He did it in the way I had been for weeks, in a kind of “I think I’d like to see Paris…” but more, “I think I want to drive head on into that semi…” and then comes the “If I had the money”/“If I could be sure I wouldn’t kill anyone else”. I would think about the consequences, but ultimately, everyone else’s lives would just keep on going. As they should – it’s life. 

I truly believe life is a gift. I’m not looking to return mine anytime soon. If I haven’t by now, I’m sure I can make it the next 50 odd years (baring any unforseen illness). There will be more hard times, but there will also be good ones too – my children growing up, friends and family who fill my life with goodness and happiness. So many blessings to count along the way, things to enjoy. There are much worse things than not having a partner. Much worse. 

I would love to be okay. I would love to not be so fucked up emotionally. But I can’t just flick a switch. I’ve tried. And as much as I keep pouring positive thoughts into my life, it hasn’t changed my heart one fucking iota. I can keep saying, “This is it! I am moving forward!”, but here I am. Square one. It’s frustrating. It’s depressing as hell. I know I’m not the only one who thinks so – many of you are like, “Jesus, Becca… just zip up the man skin and move the fuck on already!”

I’m going to just take it one day at a time. One moment. Write, train, keep in touch with friends. Try to practice as much kindness as I can – with my kids, friends and family. I’m going to work. A lot. 

I’m going to learn to live without a partner and lover. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, through sickness and health. I will love, honor and cherish my children, family and friends. Until death do I part. 

(At the age of 89)