Today, as we try to return to normality, Monday seems so fucking far away.
The memories are there, but I’m blocking them. I don’t want to see them any more. I don’t want to be scared of her.
I don’t want to think of her as a ticking time bomb.
I feel unsettled.
Something is bugging me about her diagnosis. Forty minutes is a long time to fit. A very long time. And she was seizing before the paramedic got here. When she couldn’t talk. When she was absolutely terrified and no amount of cuddling could comfort her as her brain decided to take a jaunt off and leave her body to cope.
I hate it.
I hate that Monday happened.
I hate that I’m scared of the phone ringing when she’s not here.
I hate that I spend most evenings sending OH upstairs to check on her.
I hate that it will only take one thing to spark my own mind into a spiral of flashing images that I will never ever forget.
I’m so worried about her MRI and she hasn’t even had it yet. So intensely worried that I can’t even begin to think about it. I want it to all be over.
How the hell do I sort this mental mess out?