This episode of my life starts off very slowly but please bear with me, after all this is my life I'm exposing to you. Things are starting to get better, whether my writing is, well that's a different matter but at least I'm trying.
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Following a night of fitful sleep, I reluctantly managed to persuade my body that it was time to reenter the world. As per norm I had gone to sleep with the curtains wide open, and as the bright sunlight streamed in it caused me to wince and shy away from its intense rays. Judging by the lack of shadows I deduced that it was about mid-morning. "Fuck!" I uttered with a frown as I struggled to a sitting position, before adjusting the pillows in behind me for support as I listened to the noisy bustle of city life.
"No....this is no good," I thought to myself as I slowly swivelled out of bed before hobbling towards the kettle, grabbing hold of it I then made my way into the bathroom. As I filled the kettle I looked up into the mirror and what I saw under the stark glare of the lights shocked me; for what should have been the face of a young woman in her very early thirties all I saw was a dirty, scrawny, haggard face with eyes like 'two piss-holes in the snow.' As I looked at myself with a blank stare there was no recognition. Putting the kettle aside I slowly removed my nightie dreading what was to come.
Revealed in all my glory
(what a joke)
I looked a shadow of my once beautiful self. OK I had a great tan but my withered and wrinkled skin reminded me of those prisoners from the Second World War; god I looked a sight. Ok I knew I had lost a lot of weight but this was ridiculous, how the hell did I allow myself to get into this state and as for Izzy, I'll kill her for not telling me the absolute truth, ok she had said that I had lost a bit of weight but what I now saw was ridiculous; she was supposed to be my friend.
Slowly and methodically under the stark glare of the bathroom light I began to wash and study every wrinkle and crevice of my withered body.
As a reader I expect your thinking "I don't want to read about this crap," but this is life, things happen, people do go funny when a love one dies: Izzy may have put me on the road to recovery but the rest was up to me.
Once dressed and slapped on some makeup I left the hotel, grabbed a quick coffee and a bite to eat from the local café then continued on my way to father's apartment.
Apart from last night it had been five long years since I last stood outside my father's apartment. I should have done it immediately after his death but I just could not bring myself to do it so with a lot of apprehension I slowly opened the door and stepped in.
At this point, I wasn't really sure how I should feel anymore. Yes I was depressed, but I was also angry. The problem was, I wasn't sure who I should be angry with. I knew that I didn't really have a right to be angry at Izzy, because she wasn't the one who messed up. So I was basically just a big mess of confused emotions, and I didn't really know how to handle it; perhaps I should've waited for Izzy to be here with me for it seemed like my whole life over the past several months had been turned into a rollercoaster of drama, drugs and booze. Everything had been so simple before. Sure, having been an 'army' brat I had no true friends, and was miserable as sin. But at least my life in France was enjoyable.
Why does someone dying make life so distressing.
What made things worse was that on the surface, things seemed to be almost 'normal'. For I still expected him to talk to me, put his arms around my shoulders, or take me to his bed and fuck the life out of me. That's what I'll truly missed..
My earlier escapades will reveal all.
Dad had said I could still stay in his apartment anytime I was in London but now I didn't know if I could handle it. For it felt like I was in a state of limbo, and it was awful. Breaking up would have been easier, because at least I'd know where things stood, and I could start trying to get over it. But instead, I was left wanting and wondering. And I didn't have a clue how long I had to wait. Days? Weeks? Months? It wasn't fair. But then again, nothing in my life ever seemed fair. It was like God or whoever was sitting up there in heaven, thought only of ways to make my life more miserable. Hadn't I suffered enough?!
I needed to talk to someone, I wanted someone to tell me what to do. But who could I talk to? I could talk to Izzy but she was miles away, just like Chris or Dad use to be so, as usual I was left to deal with this on my own.
Getting through that first day was absolute torture, made only worse because I kept finding things which Dad had kept from when we were a true family, things which I had long forgotten about.
At times I just wanted to run out of there, head for the nearest pub and drown my sorrows but where would that get me, my problems would still be here and for another I would surely loose Izzy this time, especially after all the effort she put into my recovery; that was a devastating thought. It would be too awkward. No, not just awkward .... heart-wrenchingly unbearable.
"Fuck...it's quiet in here," I thought to myself, seeing Dad's CD player I grabbed the nearest disc, loaded it onto play before opening a few cabinets in the lounge. I soon found a bottle of whiskey along with a couple of other bottles of spirits. My mind was suddenly racing with a million thoughts. Shit! No! I daren't touch it for I knew that once I started I'll never stop. I'm not saying I'm a total alcoholic but without a guiding hand I soon could be.
Wallowing in self-pity, which at this moment I certainly was, the melodic tones of Elton John's, "If There's a God in Heaven (What's He Waiting For?)" from my Blue Moves album began to drift through the apartment.
If there's a God in heaven
What's He waiting for?
If He can't hear the children
Then He must see the war
But it seems to me
That He leads My lambs
To the slaughter house
And not the Promised Land ....
The pleading vocals and depressing lyrics only added to the depths of my despair. I listened to this for a few more second until its words really got too depressing. Quickly pressing the eject button I then began selecting a few other discs from Dad's collection. To my surprise he was quiet hip with his music, there were a few classics but the majority of his collection dated from the mid 70's. With Neil Diamond playing in the background I made steady progress with bagging up all of Dad's possessions, most of which would be going to the local charity shops but a few things would be staying in the apartment,
especially those from his bedside cabinet which I'll come to later.
As for the furniture, it was usable, not my taste but as I said usable, and the bottles of spirits, well they would stay in the cabinet as a reminder.