I've written much more, not sent it yet although I'm hoping I will / can. Passed the 3 year mark and although I know he probably wont take the time to read it, I finally felt able to write this to him. First time ever I've been honest.
21st December 2102, a date that will stay in my head forever – even though I forget most other stuff these days – because it’s the day my life changed.
I fell up the stairs after a drink. Dropped my takeaway but hey, the dogs cleaned up for me. I’d had a drink but, ironically only one: I wasn’t p1ssed as a fart like I was most nights, in fact as I still am, how ironic is that? The few people I told, I think two close friends, believed my tale of falling over the dog. I made it to Peter’s on Boxing Day and not a word was said. I was a little stiif moving, and acted kinda tired, but they assumed I’d had a drink already so didn’t find it out of the ordinary. I was lucky that the wound was hidden under my hair so wasn’t visible. I was squeezing the lump a few times each day and draining a whole load of bright orange blood out of it because you know, there is no way I could have ever consented to a hospital stay. Yes, it scared me that much and still does. Chris told me that night that I’d scared him and pointed out that I should go to bed because the hospital wouldn’t treat me as I’d been drinking. I crawled up to bed, up two flights of stairs on my hands and knees, and managed to get myself into bed. Wow was I surprised that I woke up the following morning.
Blood all over the pillow, lump and the feeling of pressure warranted the first real squeeze of my lump – I’ve never seen blood that colour before, and hope I never do so again. Physically, my shoulder was semi-stuffed, my hip was knackered and ooh, base of my spine was somewhat dented. Oh and yep, I’d fractured my skull. Getting about was a hassle for a few months but the worst bit was I couldn’t get my hair cut because the scab left me with a bald patch! You know me, always no. 2 at the back and sides, not anymore! Hairdresser did her best to leave a few longish bits covering the patch but it wasn’t easy.
My body healed eventually, I don’t think my brain ever really has. Remember years ago when your aunt first started to become ill and she pointed out to you a penguin on the drive which was in reality a magpie? That’s how I feel most of the time. I managed to get a job interview on the merit of Peter working at the place but showed myself up from the outset. I was trying to say “warehouse” at the interview but I could only say “workshop” instead. Second attempt wasn’t an awful lot better as my mind was convinced that “washroom” was appropriate. Perhaps that’s the wrong way around, I can’t remember.
Fourteen months since I started working there, and I haven’t lost my job yet. How amazing is that? I pretty much have no sense of smell or taste unless I have the sniffles, at which times I’ve been known to bring herbs and spices right up to my face so I (think?) I can smell them. Sometimes I think I can smell tomatoes. Gets me some odd looks but I explain it away by saying how much I love their scent. At least my colleagues think I’m weird in the nicest way. If only they knew. I used to enjoy cooking; I’m at least getting back into it a little bit now. Curries and chilies are pretty random, in fact everything is. I can’t smell bacon cooking or coffee brewing; I can’t distinguish flavours, although I can usually discern when something is hot, salty or spicy.
Sleep…….oooh yes please!! Sleep abandons me for nights on end then, when it appears, it does so with a vengeance. 14 hours last night although, in my defence , I did get up at 5am to sort out the dogs before going back to bed for a further 3 hours. Constantly feeling down, struggling to find anything positive, would need about a week to respond if anyone asked me to share something that made me smile… yet still going somehow