I’ve gone through my entire life not talking to people about the things that matter. 26 years is a lot of conditioning. And it’s not that I don’t want to break the habit, it’s that I don’t know how. I have no idea how to start these conversations. So I post things on here, knowing you’ll read them, hoping you’ll understand how I’m feeling and talk to me about it. Then it makes everything worse and I don’t know what to do to make it ok again.

So many tears

Reading Sandman start to finish over the last couple of weeks probably hasn’t helped - it never does a huge amount for my mental health - but as Saturday draws closer I’m getting more and more pissed off. I’m angry that I can’t go. I’m sad that my friends can, and probably will. And I’m terrified that after Saturday everything will get nasty again, even if only for a short while. Because every time that happens I find it harder to deal with.

I don’t think I’ll be able to fully get past this until there’s nothing I’m prevented from doing because Dan used to be married. It’s affecting me more, rather than less, as time goes on because I don’t want it to still be an issue.

But I guess that’s the price I pay for breaking up a marriage. If I get away entirely scott-free that’s not really fair, is it?

Urgently needed….

gatesofsilentmemory:

About £100,000 so that we can give up the day jobs before one of us kills someone.

Every Monday it gets harder to go back into work. Every new pr client we take on, every band who wants to work with us, every gig we organise all makes it clearer to me that this is something we really are good at - not just something we think we can do but something other people genuinely want us to do for them. Which is amazing and utterly brilliant in every way. But I don’t know how we make the leap to earning a living out of it. And every Monday it gets harder to go back into work.

Incredibly strange dream last night.

I’m sitting in a pub with some of Dan’s oldest friends. They’re all lovely but I’m feeling pretty awkward right now. They all knew his wife, of course, and it’s all I can do to keep from asking them “what was she like? What were they like together? Did you think he was happy with her?”

I’m torn between wanting to know the answers and dreading them. Which is ridiculous because I don’t doubt for a second that he loves me. But still, I feel slightly weird tonight.