This blog page was my lifeline years ago; a space where I could write down all those messy thoughts and emotions and feel somewhat lighter after doing so. The fact I don’t really write on here anymore shows me the progress in the last 8 years; not to say I don’t get anxious anymore, I certainly do, but just not to the extent that I used to which is something I never would have thought possible.

However, recently I experienced the most devastating loss I’ve ever had: my Dad. And I’m finding myself resorting back to this crutch I used to have, in the hope that I can reduce some anxiety by getting these thoughts out here.

Although, what I’m finding difficult is actually writing about, talking about, even acknowledging what’s happened. There have been moments where I have felt able to talk about things, but they are few and far between and have made me notice that the response to this loss is not what I expected. I don’t know what I did expect, but I guess I’ve always been a good talker: I know that it helps, I have lived experience that it does, so to almost feel like I’m scared to do that, has thrown me a bit. I don’t even want to go to my therapy appointment in July because I’m scared to talk about it with Emily.

There are so many emotions and thoughts going on inside my brain every day at the moment, and I recognise that this is normal and it’s part of the grief but it feels harder as the days go on to try and process it. In all honestly, I don’t want to acknowledge it. Guess this is the part they call ‘denial’.

It’s random things I keep thinking about like how I started this ‘one line a day’ journal on New Year’s Day to give me something to look back at and I’ve not written past April 17th. I just can’t. Also how the only time I’ve made mash potato without my Dad it tasted like dust because I didn’t have him there like a little dictator, telling me what I was doing wrong and sighing: ‘just let me do it’. How I sleep with his pillow and cosy jacket in my bedroom, even though it stinks of smoke and ironically that used to be a point of contention between us for years. How I replay his voice in my head every day – both the grumpy one and kind one – and how I’d give anything to hear it again, even if it meant I was in trouble. How my friends gifted me a framed photo of my Dad and I for my birthday, but I couldn’t take it out of the bag for two weeks. I’m struggling to look at photos or videos of him but I also want to remember everything. How I think about how much I’m going to miss from before, but also how much I’m going to miss out on in the future. Walking down the aisle on my wedding day, my future children being held by their Grandad. It’s all just gone now. And I’m scared because it just feels too big to comprehend.