Being as I am, not a christian, I find the whole christmas concept tends to largely go by with more a kind of force of habit thing, than anything meaningful. That’s not to say that I don’t vastly enjoy it. When I had a partner the ritual of getting the tree, putting up the decorations, buying the presents. Well, I had a ball. But being single, I think I’ve come more to my personal ‘winter festival’, a kind of season’s greetings or Cyfarchion y Tymor (that’s Welsh, alledgedly (I think: Betha agus Sláinte is Irish, but I can’t really be sure) :-) ).
But this year, it’s all just kind of left me in the dust, really. I didn’t buy xmas cards, I recycled spare ones from last year. I didn’t buy presents, I repaired something for one Nephew, and given my ‘tricky’ financial state; especially given the impending move and the plan of mine to get the bike back on the road (cheaper long term, notable initial expense) my parents funded the prezzies for my other Nephew (much to my shame…). They even supplied the wrapping paper (that said, my lil’ (bigger) nephew loves his toy; even if it is a bit old for him and something he’ll have to be supervised with).
At any rate, my housemate and I discussed – has this xmas been lower key, generally? Perhaps; I’ve not been as irritated by really early adverts, sales, posters and decorations. I’ve not noticed the country readying for a holiday that’s more than months away. Perhaps, it has been later and lower key than other years. And I suppose, with my dad ill as he is, celebrating is a bit far from my mind. (break for a phone call: 00:14)
I’ve just heard, that again, my dad has lost weight. My mum’s been tracking his weight like a hawk since he was diagnosed with cancer, and has been incredibly pleased that they’ve managed to keep him at a steady weight. But he’s been losing weight for some time. I can’t remember the number of phonecalls where my mum’s said “He’s lost weight again”. It’s a sign of losing the battle, I think, and I guess it’s another thing which scares me. The knowledge of the drawn, pale terminal cancer patients. I don’t want my dad to look like that. I don’t want my dad to be going through that pain. I don’t want him to hurt the way they did.
But I fear it’s what’s coming. I fear that that is what the future holds. I don’t know which would be better for him; the sudden crisis, or the long drawn out death. That’s a scary word. Pause after I wrote it. It’s a long acceptance process this. I guess I should be grateful in some way, I’ve known for a long time, and so I’ve been able to actually put in the time; which I almost certainly wouldn’t have done so much if he wasn’t ill. If he’d’ve died suddenly I’d’ve been hit with the knowledge that once I’d grown up I’d not spent the time getting to know my parents.
Funny how selfish this can make you. See, “this”. Cancer. Long term illness of someone you love. I guess I should be grateful for these 3 years. 3 years I’ve had with my dad; some people only get a phone call after the fact. And there’s more time. I just fear it’s not much more time. But he’s in so much pain…. He doesn’t want to die. That’s what’s so bad. I don’t really care about dying, not for me. When I had the bike accident beyond the primitive survival instinct the thing that most bothered me was how Aisling (my ex) and my family would deal with it.
How terrible it would have been for them had I died that day on the motorway (that sounds very narcissistic, doesn’t it?). Not me, I wasn’t desperately worried about me. The first thing I asked the policeman to do; ring Aisling and explain that I was actually okay (in a neckbrace, awaiting transport out of there, but okay!) (Also that I wanted her with me…). But the fear, the fear of dying? I don’t really have that. I had it after the fact, but death in and of itself, that doesn’t really scare me. That ceasing to be. Maybe that’s not healthy. I won’t deliberately bring it on myself, but there’s no fear of it.
But for my dad, Death is a very scary idea. For me, his death is a scary idea. I don’t want my dad to cease to be. But I guess, at the end of the day, he will, at some point, cease to be. Whether it’s sooner or later, is I guess, something that we all never know. Well, except in very rare cases…. But it’s his fear of it which makes it that much worse. I want him to live as long as he wants to live, but his fear of death makes acceptance harder; I think.
I don’t know. I don’t know what I want, it’s conflicting. I want a cuddle. I want a cuddle from someone I love and I guess that’s what makes it all the harder. Being here alone. Tired and alone with no one to talk to but an old HP Omnibook. And nice though it is (thanks John!), it doesn’t really make up for the absence of love in my life.
Not that, to be honest, love has so far made my life easier. Although it’s given me something to look back on with happiness; it’s also caused me a hell of a lot of pain. So why’m I so eager to fall in love again; I guess I’m a sucker for it. That and I miss having someone to share my life with. I’ve not really got much experience of being single; since I came out I’ve pretty much always been with someone.
There’s an exercise in positivity; name at least one good thing to come out of each relationship:
– Strength to come out, Sex is bloody good fun.
– Reminder of my love of music and it’s importance in my relationships.
– Motorbikes, Importance of Trust & Monogamy, Importance of friendship.
– The true power of love, importance of honesty, knowledge of myself, importance of sex.
– Confidence to be myself again.
It’s very odd to break them down so much. I’ve never done that before. Don’t think from that you can work out the number of partners. Although, long time readers can work it out I should think…. which is a very disconcerting idea. Perhaps I should not say so much in these journals; but then who gives a fig. I’d talk about it with anyone and everyone anyway.
See, scary emotions all back in a box now. All nice and safe. Tomorrows another day, monday, actually, since it’s already boxing day. And I’ve got a box right here. It’s got my prezzies in it….. Well, it’s not got the bottle of Sheridan’s.
I’ve actually drunk more in the last 3 days that I probably drunk in the preceding month. It’s funny how much I’ve changed over this last year. Still not quite got the hang of this exercise business. But I will. Hell, shall I start now. I’ll do some situps. Won’t be many; I’m hideously unfit. Hang on….. There we go. 20. Knackered now. Gonna look at old photos, make myself feel sad, and go to bed. :-/
