Ok I’m starting to feel me a little bit more. Tough week but will go into more detail tomorrow. Tired, night night xx

Ok so stage 4 brings about man woes however I do have the mental faculty to teach me that its all part of the process. I have dealt with the anger for a long time and now that is gone all is left really is sadness. Its kinda odd but everything is setting me off. I guess before I was distracted and now the silence is a little deafening. I was making a drink this morning looked out the window and burst into tears. A pretty weird thing to do. Oddly strange that it didnt feel at all strange, sort of routine.

This part is not nice at all but I know it will pass. I just wish I could talk to her about it. She would have just the right thing to say. Hopefully after my self imposed excile I will be back to some sort of semblance of normality. Until then my moaping an weeping will have to sufice. I definately have to get back to my stories. They are the whole point, not this weird mopey nonsense. Until then I am fimly planted in bed, watching netflix with some junkfood. Please bare with me. This story is far from finished.

night xx

ok so they say their are 5 stages of grief. I am definitely in stag 4, depression. I have been distracting myself through work and social events to keep what my mind didn’t want to deal with. My feelings. Now I am off for a week and I’ve had a really shitty couple of days. I have basically became a weird monster who likes in his bed all day. I only get up to go to the bathroom. In between crying and sleeping I pretty much do nothing all day. I really hope tomorrow is a bit better. Who knows. Anyway I’m going back to bed again.

night x

She flashed in front of me in to the student halls wearing a pink trilby hat. She was blond, pretty and a smile like a boomerang. Her friend had raven hair and an air of confidence I had never seen in someone before, she exuded it like a leaky tap…. and she knew it. Within those first 5 minutes I knew, these are my new friends… whether they like it or not. And why wouldn’t they like it? I was charming and sweet but also with a little edge. I’m sure I was the balance between their Ying and Yang personas. I just needed to pass the audition…. life has no dress rehearsal and this was my chance. To think, it all started with a Pink Trilby hat in late September…

Inspiration. It is very much something that can appear from nowhere and disappear just as quick. We looks to many sources for inspiration, the Greeks called on the muses to inspire their art. Ok so that’s all well and good but I’m not sure we can rely on some Grecian Floozy in modern times to gives us a dolt of inspiration when the urge strikes us. I have found that although the muses are long gone, their legacy is far from stuck in the ancient texts of old. Essentially people inspire us everyday. From giving us that lift we need to make it past the second tall latte we are craving to strokes of genius we feel creep up to us in the most unexpected places. I am inspired everyday by the people I am fortunate enough to surround myself in my life.

Sometimes It takes loosing something to see how much we really have. I have been very luck in my life that I have been surrounded by love at all touchpoints in my life. From a bouncing baby boy who used to run up the streets in size 7 heels, to the semi-functional adult sitting writing this blog. I have been inspired by the people in my life. One chapter in my life that was abundant with inspiration was my university years, and the two girls I still call friend to this day. This is how it all began…..

University was thrilling and scary for me. Of all the ladies only Nadia was attending the same one as me, in Coleraine. The others were heading to Belfast which I was initially devastated about being separated from them I was also kind of excited to start this new adventure. It felt like I could be anyone I wanted to be really, I could have a whole new identity and no one would know any different. I had been out a year and really I was coming to terms with the adjustment myself. The ladies were fantastic but they knew me before I was out so it was a little strange. I was going to a place where I wouldn’t have to come out (per se) and I could just be Michael straight away (I see the irony in that statement). Billy was also leaving to go to England. We knew he would as he was never one for settling or doing the normal thing. He probably went to Coventry just to be different knowing him. The drama of it all. I was not ready for that big an adjustment. I was very much a mummy’s boy and the thought of not seeing her every weekend was too scary. Also I don’t even think I for once thought about going to university in England. I cant even remember why? Billy was the only one of us to go across the sea. He was always brave like that.

The arrangement was that I would live in university Sunday night through to Friday morning, attend morning class, come home, drop my washing off, go to work then see the ladies on Saturday night. We all came home for our weekend jobs and it was lovely as we never felt we were too distant from each other. It was also nice to see mummy as that day she dropped me off at the student halls I swear I seen her crying on the drive away.

4 weeks later….

So I had my classes down, I only had something like 16 hours a week of classes. I was really enjoying them actually as at university the vibe is completely different than at school. Most people at university actually want to be there and learn. My social life was mediocre. Nadia and myself befriended the girls she lived with and to say they were odd is an understatement. They were two girls from the west coast of Northern Ireland. Ringer would come up the odd Wednesday night to attend the weekly ritual of Kelly’s nightclub. It was a superclub in Portrush were everyone would go from University as it was the place to be. It was the only nightclub I have went into with a full on fish and chips restaurant inside. I can still smell the chip cheese and curry I would inevitably be wolfing down at the end of the night. It was one such night I was heading home from an evening to my own university dorm. Nadia had a brand new build with en suite. I on the other hand had what looked like a prison cell. White washed brick walls and communal showers (they were vile). I didn’t really communicate with the boys in my particular block as they were usually all too stoned to make eye contact. I pretty much hung out with Nadia when I wasn’t studying or in class.

That night walking home from my taxi from Kellys I bumped into two familiar looking girls in the entrance to my dorm. It was a massive dorm that had many different blocks, and one lived in a different block yet the same building as myself. I recognised the two as they were from my Media Studies class. I think they always sat together. I am pretty sure they were from the same place as the Belfast accents sounded similar. As I approached my dorm a blond girl with a pink trilby hat said hello to me.

“Do you live here? what’s your name?

I answered in the affirmative, a little tipsy so probably with a large amount of enthusiasm. Shed introduced herself, she was ‘Tink’ (short for TInkerbell). She smiled at me in a very warm way and decided she would introduce me to everyone from the halls. She put her Pink Trilby hat on me (she knew I was homo fabulous straight away) and grabbed my hand and paraded me up and down the halls. She introduced me to this Raven headed girl with dark eye makeup. She was smoking a lambert and butler cigarette like she had been smoking since she was 2. She eyeballed me looking completely unimpressed with what stood before her. Tink introduced the girl to me.

“This is ‘Fagbutt’, she is in our class too”.

I smiled and said hello to Fagbutt even though I was pretty sure I was going to hate this girl, she terrified me. She looked so over everything and everyone in that moment. Yet she had a cool way of doing it. It was like meeting Marylin Monroe and Joan Crawford. Though I must say Fagbutt is far prettier than Ms Crawford ever was.

Over the next few weeks the three of us became the best of friends. Tink was the cute social butterfly who was friends with everyone. I was the gay who most people were fascinated by and wanted to ‘have a conversation about my gayness’ with me (exhausting most of the time) and Fagbutt was the strong one who would kick anyone’s ass if they messed with Tink or myself. These two girls were my university experience. They inspired me everyday. I grew up a lot those 3 years and especially discovered a lot more about myself through their friendship.

Their is a lot more to tell though….. this is just the first meeting……… a lot more on these ladies soon.

night xx

Dear Mummy,

A lot has happened in these past two months and a lot has stayed the same. Since you have been gone I have been writing a blog. Its sort of hard to explain why I started writing it but I will try. You always knew I had far too much to say about everything, I guess this was my solution. Normally I would deal with it in a very ‘Michael’ kind of way and just throw myself into something. This blog turned into that something. I wonder what you would think of it? You would probably tell me off or something as you hated people who shared everything on Facebook.

“I don’t understand why we need to know what they are having for dinner”.

Our evening chats used to be my outlet, now I don’t have that. I miss our chats every evening after work. I especially miss the ones that involved us having a bottle of wine together even though we were hundreds of miles apart. That’s gone now. Without much warning  you were taken from me and I miss you more than I even possibly would of known. My best friend is gone.

Sometimes I will sit on my red sofa that you bought me and stare out the window in the home you helped me create. I think of all the things I miss telling you. How work is going. What my friends are doing. All the little things that make up the big picture. I sometimes pretend you are there and I have little conversations and imagine how you would respond. I can still here your voice, I remember one of the last things we giggled about. Remember the ‘now Michael’ conversation. We both couldn’t speak from laughing on the phone. We had our own weird sense of humour that only we got, it was like a private club that only we were members.

I just want you to know I’m doing ok. Everyone has been lovely and really supportive and I have been a massive pain in the butt, a lot recently. I cant help it. You know what I’m like. I never have dealt with change very well. The hardest part is not being able to talk to you about it, any of it.

Miss you and love you always,

Peanut.

Having left the club with my dignity in the toilet I felt a flourish of red faced embarrassment that even the vodka couldn’t absorb. The thoughts swirling round my head were panic and fear. The thing about ‘coming out’ is essentially rather unfair however mandatory for every gay kid. As I stated previously, this is a ritual that no straight person really has to experience. I have always experienced it like going up to your parents and declaring, “I enjoy sex”. That is essentially what you are saying, You have provocative thoughts about the same sex which need to be facilitated by the mandatory coming out. Coming out is a deeply personal journey that is unique to every person. It should be decided by you on who, when and how. This doesn’t always happen and sometimes these moments are stolen from us. As I left the club the girls who I had taken my little first steps with promised to keep quiet about Michaels new identity. I was unsure however thought I didn’t really have much of a choice and thought perhaps it could still be contained somehow.

Billy had a look of glee and looking back I understand now what he was happy about, he wasn’t alone in this. He had an ally. We had always danced around the issue of my sexuality however never spoken out loud. Unlike Billy I had girlfriends in school. For some reason I could be quite the charmer with the ladies. I do believe it was my Bieber stilte curtains and big cheeks that sealed the deal. It had only ever been PG 13 with any of my girlfriends. One girl got close, a little too close for my liking. One time we were in her car and her wandering hands were getting a little bit to close to my gay chastity belt for my liking. I brusher her off with the line every gay guy uses when with his ‘beard’, “I’m just not ready yet”. Generally this is a good indication of male sexual identity as most teen guys were born ready. It kind of turns the whole pressuring for sex deal on its head. I shouldn’t of worried though, that particular grew up to be a lesbian, so maybe I was the beard. I did contemplate doing the deed once with her but really couldn’t get past the whole female parts section of it all, and that is a big section to overcome. Kind of comes with the package. I guess every gay teen at some point contemplates how much easier their life would be if they were straight, especially from a small town in Ireland.

The next upcoming event in school was the Formal (or prom if you prefer, though I don’t and its my blog so you can piss off). That night was rather eventful in itself and the awkwardness couldn’t escape the air, something was a miss however I was too busy enjoying it too care too much. Myself and Lexus had decided to go as friends as I was single and she was dating a guy from another school, he was called ‘Buggy’. I will further elaborate on that night soon however this story isn’t really about that night, it is about the subsequent days, and the aftermath of my tryst.

We all had our little meeting place in school, we had our little blue corner of chairs lined up like a sofa and that was our turf where we met before first period. That was always a magical time and we relished every moment before we got split up and had to resume our education. The morning and lunch was the only times we were all together. Our group was about 10 strong at this point and we loved our routine. Everyday felt the same, apart from this one. This day had a weird atmosphere in the air. It felt almost tangible, I couldn’t really describe it. Something was off. I looked at Billy and asked why everyone was acting weird? The hangover from the formal had surely wore off and I don’t remember offending anyone in the slightest. “They know”, he whispered.

SHITBALLS

What the hell did they know? I knew exactly and in some ways I sort of expected it. I was never going to survive my one moment of alcohol driven bravery and live to tell the tale. To this point I was out to no one. I think the one thing you fear most is change. People treating you differently. I think we keep up the pretence of heterosexuality so we don’t have to go through =change, we like everything to stay the same, for a teenager… change is bad! I later found out that one of the girls I was with had told Buggy who was dating Lexus. Bloody Buggy I thought! It circulated our group like wildfire. I sat in our safe place where we always sat and for the first time felt very venerable. I’m usually rather outspoken and confident in my statements. This day it was different. My palms were clammy, I was distant. I was interpreting every  coded sentence from my friend. Lexus at one point declared in a matter of fact kind of way, “A lot of change is happening”. Ok so I couldn’t swear that was the exact phrase as I  was too busy fumbling around pretending to look for a book or some other social distraction however I remember the sentiment. She was letting me know gently that she knew, and that it was ok. I think.

The bell couldn’t ring quick enough that day and I rushed out of their like a bat out of hell. I had arranged to take big girl home and to be honest wasn’t really in the mood, I just wanted to go straight home and wallow however I manned up and directed her to my car. It was quiet. Normally myself and big girl can fill every silence going, not cause we have to, but because we enjoy each others company and we are pretty damn funny together. We can satirise the mundane and turn it into a bit in seconds. That was our thing. Today though was different. The awkward feeling in the air was very much tangible, to the point it could have been cut with a feather. I drove that familiar route on auto pilot. I had drove to her house a million times and this time I did it without really focusing on the journey. I was thinking of the whole days events. I was thinking how scared I was that my life was about to change. As we pulled up to big girls house she turned round and looked at me and said, “today has been a big day for revelations, hasn’t it?”. I vaguely agreed, slammed the door and sped off. I know what she was trying to suggest however my brain had went into overload with panic and just wanted to get home and not deal with this emotional rollercoaster just yet.

We all have had moments in our lives where we either wish we could rewind or pause. I was in the middle somewhere. I knew it was finally out but I wanted to pause. It had to come out sometime and part of me was relived. I just wasn’t ready to process it all in that instant. Could I pause my life for say maybe 6 months until I was emotionally mature enough to deal with this situation. I lay on my bed that afternoon looking out my skylight. As a teenager I would often go straight to my room and often sleep before mummy called me ready for tea (don’t judge me I was growing and teenagers sleep more than dogs!). That afternoon I couldn’t of slept with a healthy dose of Rohypnol. My phone then buzzed….. it was big girl

Dear Michael, I know about what happened in the Kremlin. I tried to talk to you in the car but could tell you were uncomfortable. I just want you to know that we all love you gay or straight and just want you to be happy,    Love    Big Girl.

My heart sank. Though I must admit it was light relief as well. It was out and open. Things escalated pretty quickly over the next few days and I was invited to some drop In sessions with my ladies. What I mean by that was group therapy for recently outed teenagers wasn’t a thing in Ballymena so my best friends decided to step in and discuss my recent outing, and my gayness. We went round to one of their houses after school one day. I knew why I was there. I had to talk about the one thing my brain had trained itself never to talk about in public. As we sat their awkwardly everyone was on the edge of their seat. I thought Lexus was going to have a panic attack from the anxiety of it all, she looked more terrified than me. Then after enough trivial small talk big girl turned to the group and said,

“So, Our Friend Michael is gay…. lets talk about that”. and we did.

That was it. We all chatted, laughed, discussed who was fit in our school and generally bonded. I think even though I knew my best friends I really started to love them from that day. They could also start to love me, the real me.

Big girl stepped up and really took the reins. Everyone needs a big girl who can be brave enough to say what everyone is scared of saying. I’m not sure how I would of coped without her. It truly was a scary experience. Though because of her and the ladies it is not an enjoyable memory. A cherished memory.

And it all started with a kiss.

xx

Coming out is a rather funny thing isn’t it? Unless you are a debutante making a debut to society then it is something completely foreign to a heterosexual. It is something they will never experience as by nature, why would they? It is something every gay person be it male or female has to do at least once, sometimes multiple times. It is of course the revealing of your true self to the world. It is a right of passage of sorts like many things which we experience in our lives. The first kiss, the first time we drive a car, the first time we expose our sexual preferences… ok so that last one seems a bit odd. If you really think about it, It is! Imagine coming home to your parents as a teenage male and screaming…. I’m attracted to women. Very good jimmy now get on with your homework. For the select 10% or so of us, its something we dread. Some make a momentous occasion of the whole thing while others struggle for years to finally come to terms, even to themselves. My story is about the first time I came out to my friends.

At the ripe age of 17 I had long discovered my sexual preferences. I wasn’t one of those kids who said, “I knew when I was 5 years old”. Good luck to those kids but I barely remember what toys I was playing with besides having a profound sexual awakening. Many describe feeling different from all the other kids. I had no such experience. I felt relatively typical of what a kid should feel like. I also luckily never struggled with the experience. I sort of said to myself in my teenage years, “I’m definitely gay”, and that was that. No agonising soul searching, so sleepless nights worrying about the future my life would take. Just a simple realisation and then the pragmatist in me moved on. This account is not to shame or belittle other such experiences. I have plenty of empathy for everyone’s experiences. Mine was just this way. Like all experiences. Unique to ourselves.

We decided to have a night out for Billy in Belfast. We had been on nights out in straight clubs many a time (well not me as I got asked for proof of age everywhere so I was usually first one removed). We decided tonight was Billy’s night to be supported. Secretly I was rather excited as I had never set foot in a gay club. My only frame of reference was watching Queer as folk late at night with the volume turned down extremely low to avoid detection. It seemed like a glittery candy land against a soundtrack of Gloria Gaynor. The plan was all set. We had a couple of designated drivers and everyone would wear their most adult looking outfits for the Saturday trip to Belfast’s premier gay club, the Kremlin. The apprehension sunk in for myself, not due to the location, due to the fact that my batting average in getting into clubs was a cold hard zero. Imagine I was left out in the cold while everyone was inside the candy land dancing the night away to Kylie and Whitney. We decided I would form part of a larger entourage of the older teens to avoid detection. I avoided eye contact like my life depended on it, it kind of did, my social life.

The 6ft giant lesbian bouncer scanned our crowd with intense scrutiny, thankfully I was 5’8 and avoided her gargantuan gaze. Lady luck was smiling down on me as I somehow avoided customs and was declared entry. We proceeded into this darkly lit corridor with  coat check. The guy on the coats had more eye liner than some of my female compatriots however I just tried to act so seasoned and not pay any attention. Little did I know that the boy from Ballymena was about to see a lot more than a guy in eyeliner. We walked through the fog and glitter into a long bar (appropriately dubbed the long bar). This was the pre drink bar where you would then be ushered into the club of house music and smoke machines in due course. Time for some refreshments first. I don’t know if I was giddy or just excited at my first experience in a gay bar but the alcohol started to have a rather quick effect, more so than my 5’8 frame would normally succumb too (which wasn’t a lot to be fair).

I looked across the bar to see two gents having a kiss. I say a kiss but it was more like tongue wrestling on late night television. Billy scowled at me and asked me to stop staring. I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t seen two men hold hands let alone swap saliva. The most I had come close was two guys tackling each other on the rugby pitch. It was rather a strange sight and if I was to be honest I felt a little uncomfortable at first. My brain was programmed by society to know this wasn’t ‘normal’.

After about 4 kylie songs, 3 pink songs and a good helping of Gloria we then were ushered into the ‘club’ part of the Kremlin. This was a large square dance space with a stage. Their was also an upper deck which contained another bar were patrons could look down on us mere mortals attempting to know exactly how to dance to house music the 8ft drag queen was mixing for us. The group formed little splinter cells and started to do their own thing. I excused myself to the toilet, though my ulterior motive was hardly to void my bladder. I decided this was the time to go exploring. Like hansel and Gretel I wanted to explore this gingerbread house and see what wonders it had in store.

The thing to know about gay clubs, I swear they can smell fresh meat. We must give off an aroma that alerts the predators that a fresh gazelle has entered the space. As I wandered the club I was descended by one such hyena.  He asked my name, I smiled and complied asking his. My palms were sweating and my brow was shiny from the hear and nerves. He grabbed my arm and asked to go for a walk. I was unsure what this would entail however I was too nervous to protest. Also part of me didn’t want to. By this point the alcohol had replaced any sense of rational thought and I was more than willing to comply. We ended up on the stage, dancing away. Suddenly I felt him grab the arch of my back and lean in for a kiss. Instead of struggling with this predator, I became easy prey and complied with his kiss. I kissed him back. My head was spinning from a combination of the kiss and the vodka in my bloodstream. Then I realised, all my friends were watching…….

Now what I didn’t allude to earlier was that it wasn’t the ladies who were on this night out. It was a different group of girls which included Jasmine (remember her from Magaluf). At the time I didn’t acknowledge the consequences of my bold actions I was too consumed with exhilaration to care. I felt bold and I felt free. Billy grinned at me as we eventually went to leave the club. “We have a lot to talk about”, he said….

To be continued……….

night night xx

This weekend in particular as been pretty crazy. One flatmate moved out, another scheduled to move in. My weekend of relaxation has been filled with stress and cleaning. Gotta make it all pretty for the new housemate. Thankfully I have came through the other side feeling rather good. I have my favourite candle burning, just watched the cutest movie called ‘love, Simon’ and am about to settle into love island reunion. We will be back to our regularly scheduled blogging activities tomorrow however tonight is about relaxation and indulgence. In the plus side I have been inspired about what next to write over these few days.

#shewouldbelaughingaboutallthis

#missher

#goodmemoriesmakegreatstories

night night xx

Independence is something most of us clamour for from a young age, we cant wait to cut the apron strings and rush into life. I say most of us as some people prefer the apron strings are attached with lead and are very happy to live their lives like that. I myself was always a bit of a dreamer. I dreamt of moving to the big city and gaining my freedom. I got a little taste at university however you can hardly call it independent when I came home every Friday to have my washing done, typical Irish son!

I gained my first true sense of independence when I moved to Englandshire about eight and a half years ago. I went from having all my meals cooked and being taken care off to doing it all myself, well sort of. I remember ringing mummy after the first day I got a bus. I stood at the bus stop eyeballing the number  22 to the Trafford centre. The cheeky thing just kept on going. I was rather bewildered. I thought I am definitely going to make a complaint about this really rude driver who is in a massive rush. I was so flummoxed the first thing I did was ring mummy. She would understand my woe. I explained the whole scenario to her and she calmly and quietly answered, “did you put your hand out to wave him down?”. Did I? Of course I didn’t. We both laughed hysterically at the notion that I thought a bus just presumed I wanted to get on it. I was rather naïve to the workings of public transport so I just thought everyone got picked up. Silly Michael.

Id love to say that is where the silliness started and ended however it was not the case. I rang mummy after bleeding my radiators as I thought I would be dead grown up and bleed them. In my head that was something ‘adults’ did every so often. I wasn’t sure why a radiator required being drained of life fluid, I also didn’t care for the imagery. I just knew in my head that if I was to be a fully functioning adult I would one day be called upon to be manly and bleed a bloody radiator. Of course I did. Water went everywhere, and I mean everywhere. Towels were flying out of the press and onto the corresponding puddles of dirty water. After I dealt with the tsunami or bleeding radiators I soon realised that my heating wouldn’t work. Typical. Why the hell did I even start this escapade? In her quiet wisdom, she said, “you will have lowered the pressure of your boiler too much”. Ok how did she know all this?? How was I supposed to know their was a direct correlation between water pressure and heating. I thought magic elves lived inside the boiler cupboard and made the whole hot water experience happen like magic. I presumed their was a foreman commanding the worker elves under a very tight schedule or twists, knocks and bangs to release the magical hot water waterfall at precisely the right time when I was heading to the shower. I was wrong.

Another adult thing to do of course is changing things in your apartment. A bit of DIY is always good for the soul. Unless you are Michael who thought DIY was just a television series on Bravo. I decided to start small(ish). I decided to change my shower door and replace it with a brand spanking new one. I found a chap from one of those handymen websites (be warned). The chap called round looked at my shower door and said, “I’m afraid the adhesive is too strong, we will need to take the tiles off surrounding it”. Ok… that seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to say, I thought. “Also, they don’t make those tiles anymore so you wont get a perfect match, I would be better retiling the whole thing”, this should of been where alarm bells started to ring however I was new to this whole thing so decided It was perfectly logical. I queried how much? £200.00.

This was a little more than I had invested in for a shower door however I thought why not lets give it a go. He asked for the money upfront (WARNININGGGGGGGGGGGG), which I assumed was standard practice and let him get on with it. He came 2 days later than he said with chap Jr in tow. The hammered and banged for a good hour and a half then came out and said they needed to head to another job. I thought this odd as I was a paying customer and it seemed illogical to take another job while working on one. I’m a completionist who likes to start one job and complete before starting another. I presumed this was how the handy trade worked. He dazzled me with some complex wordplay about how my walls were complex and he needed to get more tiles, he required another £200. I started to get a sinking feeling in my guy at this point however I reluctantly handed over another wad of cash.

That was the last I heard from that chap.

I left phone calls. Text messages. Sky writing. None were answered. He was gone and he was £400 richer. I felt like a fool. I rang mummy distraught. Not only had he made away with my heard earned money, he had left my bathroom and absolute mess. Their was holes in every wall, half with tiles, half not. Needless to say no new shower door either. Mummy couldn’t believe I gave him the money up front, and to be honest looking back neither can I. My stupidity had led me to this mess and I just wanted mummy to make it all go away. I resented my independence.

She said I needed to speak to someone in work and get someone on personal recommendation. Off I trotted into my job and spoke to a few of the lovely ladies I worked with at the time. One lady called Joyce gave me the number of a lovely handyman who does all her jobs for her, at a decent price. His name was Charlie. I sent Charlie a text and within a few hours he rang me back. he came round to see the bombsite I had been left with. He looked horrified. I told him the whole story and he looked at me like a child and said, “I could of taken the shower door off without touching the tiles, he was conning you”. At this stage I was thinking, “yes Charlie I realise that now”. I asked Charlie how much to fix it all. He charged me “120.00. It also included all new tiles. I think he really felt sorry for me. Charlie came one afternoon and was done in a few hours. My bathroom never looked better and I handed Charlie £150.00 and I was so happy, he wouldn’t accept the £30.00 extra however. Charlie has been my handyman ever since.

Independence has been amazing in some ways, the freedom you feel is amazing. When things go tits up its another story. No one can help like your mummy. Sadly without choice I have complete independence. I am completely free. I have no other choice. I don’t have mummy to lean on anymore. I am an adult… whether I like it or not. One thing I am grateful for Is all those little hiccups (we only touched the iceberg this evening), I think they have made me stronger and more prepared in this world. I think she would be happy about that. A parents job is to make sure a child can look after themselves in a big bad world. I might not always have the answers and I may not always make the right choices but I feel I can think of her when a crisis emerges and imagine what she would say.

Also how she might giggle at me.

Silly Michael

xx

This morning was a funny one. Not in the traditional ‘ha ha’ sense. More in the odd sense. A rush of emotion did not hit me like a tonne of bricks like it had been. Their was no dramatic clutching of the heart sensation. Just a little whimper, and a small wave of sadness. All very quiet, All very subtle, all very potent.

The origin of this restless whisper came in the most mundane of places. I was standing in my bathroom brushing my teeth. A generally normal activity in the morning for most. I was planning my day in my head. I do some of my best thinking either before I have a shower or in it. I don’t know what it is but it seems to be the place where all my masterful schemes all come together. I have always been a thinker in the shower. The only time my brain truly quietens down is when I am asleep. Sometimes it is rather exhausting as my brain is constantly whirling around like a CD, churning out thoughts at a rapid rate. I was thinking about different options for new bedding. I want to refresh my bedroom look and was thinking about colour choices in my head. Then she snuck into my thoughts.

It was a subtle little twinge to the head. Like a little thought worm had crawled through my ear and planted a little suggestion. My mummy.

I looked in the mirror, paused and kind of let out a gentle sigh. I hadn’t really forgot about mummy at all. She is in my thoughts quite a lot through the day. This time it came from nowhere. A little wave of sadness flowed over me. I dwelled on all the things we didn’t have a chance to do. All the things we loved doing that we wouldn’t do again. I thought about her birthday, Christmas, New year, my birthday. All those things that will probably sting the first time, and perhaps keep on stinging. I had my shower and got ready for work, the thoughts lingered as I made my way down the road. I seen a little lady on the footpath. A normal little old lady waiting for a bus. She had grey/white hair, small in stature and a little granny mac in duck egg. I started to think, I wonder how old she is?

A bit unusual thing to be thinking about a perfect stranger really. Though I find myself thinking about age, in particular older ladies ages all the time. I think to myself, “I wonder is she older than mummy?”. The reason is completely selfish of course. I think why is she alive and my mummy isn’t. Why was she younger than her when she died? The thoughts are not intentional and I know I shouldn’t be thinking them, however the thought worm has an insatiable appetite for all things inappropriate. I look at these ladies and I used to feel anger, now anger has been replaced with a quiet melancholy. I do not wish these women any harm, I just question their age in my head. Are they older than my mummy?

Questioning the logic of death is inevitable. We think to ourselves why has this happened to me? Death and atropy are inevitable. We will never be ever sustaining creatures. We hear about it everyday. It is usually far removed and although we can feel empathy we rarely let is inside. We know it happens. It just never happens to us. Its something that I think about a lot and in particular the seemingly cruel nature of it all. My loss was rather sudden, for that in many ways I am thankful as I know my dear mother did not suffer. It still does not take away the hurt and the wishing for one final phone call. Just one more conversation with mummy.

I do still talk away to mummy as it happens. Some may call me mad I’m sure. I have no response so don’t worry, I am not the next Norman Bates. I don’t plan on raiding her cupboard for chiffon skirts and silk blouses while rocking in a chair at some dodgy motel.  I talk to her sometimes telling her I wish she was here. I did that this morning after I brushed my teeth. I felt melancholy. That restless whisper.

I know she listens. I just wish I could hear her.

xx