I have two days off work, I think I may need more. I want to talk about it but I also don't want to. I want to say thank you to everyone who left me a message hoping that I was ok, I will be, I'm not going to let this ruin me. I'm a good person who just happened to end up in the crap. It'll wash off eventually.
I found this poem today, in between crying and sleeping, and it really resonated with me.
It's called Deceptions and it's by Philip Larkin.
Even so distant, I can taste the grief,
Bitter and sharp with stalks, he made you gulp.
The sun's occasional print, the brisk brief
Worry of wheels along the street outside
Where bridal London bows the other way,
And light, unanswerable and tall and wide,
Forbids the scar to heal, and drives
Shame out of hiding. All the unhurried day
Your mind lay open like a drawer of knives.
Slums, years, have buried you. I would not dare
Console you if I could. What can be said,
Except that suffering is exact, but where
Desire takes charge, readings will grow erratic?
For you would hardly care
That you were less decieved, out on that bed,
Than he was, stumbling up the breathless stair
To burst into fulfilment's desolate attic.
I will get better. I know I will. I just need time to rebuild.
Big love to you all, look after each other x