Sunday Blurs.

Somehow it’s Sunday again, as I attempt to embrace lightness. Waking up early yet fumbling around until finally leaving the house after midday (while reminding myself that I have no where I have to be at a particular time so why am I so bothered by it?) Should I let myself have the glory? To be proud, because I left the house. (I’m gonna go with yes coz I’m in my self compassionate era innit) 

Here I am existing outside and the world hasn’t ended, and “isn’t this nice?” coz, everyone I speak to has no idea that my grip feels sort of slippery. Precarious, to say the very least. 

When I woke up, habitually reaching for my phone and skipping through a few stories. Blur. Blur at Primavera playing “The Universal” and, fuck. I fall apart. I’m kind of thrown. I don't know where the reaction came from. I’m stunned because of the tears leaping from my eyes. But I stay with it. Because, I haven’t been crying, not lately. I've kept expecting this breaking down to happen but I'm just sort of nothingy. It’s one of the ways I know how far away I am from myself. Because, listen - I cry. I relish crying. Like I really fucking embrace it. But  lately, I feel it just bubbling beneath the surface. And even though it feels sort of unhealthy - It also feels like strength. So, am I strong enough to hold it in, not strong enough to let it out? Is that unfair? Is that me being inhumane, again? “Why can’t you just cry you idiot?”. So I typed it into Spotify and pressed play. Thinking about times when we all lived in the same house. Still in different universes but for brief, sweet snatches of time. It feels so fucking far away…

“Here it comes”. The choking, jolting weeping. Why does it feel so violent? It stops just as abruptly as it began. And I think about playing another song. But I don't. I won't. 

Huh, so, here we are again. Sunday. I learn that Blur is a release button. Like flowers are too. With my mum, it’s always thinking of flowers that pushes me over the edge. An immense wave of fucking grief creeps in and then swiftly robs my false steadiness from me whenever I think of sending her flowers to let her know I love her. Love her. All I can attempt to do is love her right now. I guess you’d call it “triggering” but fuck I hate that phrase. Anything can trigger.

I’ve been triggered by the way the sun has hit a building in a certain way before. But I don’t believe in avoiding the sun. Or buildings. 

So here I am again. Practicing laying my vulnerability out on the table for show and tell. “This is the bit that rips my heart out of my chest and hands it to me- isn’t it curious?”. 

God, how I wish it was something that tangible. I keep going back to this feeling, that now- now there is no way back to that level in my, mentality? In my repairability? The place of naivety. I remember being 11 or 12 stood in a shop in St Ives listening to some guy on the radio talking about the rivalry between Blur and Oasis. No fucking clue what real life was like yet. I have always had this weird naive hope, baseless, with no regard for facts and experience. I thought I knew what love was. What loss felt like. There are these stages that I feel our minds go through. Levels if you will. And some, once you surpass you can’t fully reclaim the way you saw the world before them. I think this moment is that level for me. Something has shifted. And I cannot imagine this black dot ever being completely gone from inside my heart. 

When Billie Jo died, I didn’t feel allowed to grieve, it crept in and never left, so. It’s been here ever since. Just soft plumes over everything. Heartbreak, the romantic kind, grief. Violence, the violence I was really naive in thinking would be the worst thing to ever happen to me. Grief. Do you always believe the “worst thing” is whatever happens to you in your 20’s when you’re foolish enough to think you have it all figured out and the universe unceremoniously pulls the rug out and yells “surprise!”. We all have different timelines I suppose? When my gran died I felt like the rest of my pain had been self indulgent. But also, was flooded with the relief that finally I was allowed to grieve something. I’ve been friends with grief for so many years but for so long I didn’t know that’s what it was. 

I didn’t realise it could be so many different things.