I know you don’t have the patience to read a four thousand word monologue from a crazy lesbian so I’m going to split up this week into a few written installments. But it’s been quite a crazy one in which I got fucking hysterical several times, was viciously trolled online by my in laws’ hater friend, had to take Valium (naughtily purchased in Thailand), danced around Mr Man Bun’s kitchen playing the flower duet on the descant recorder, and introduced girlfriend to some of my best friends. I wasn’t even on my period and I was hysterical. But then I also told my girlfriend I love her so that’s a rather lovely end to it. Now I’m writing to attempt to make sense of it all (and give you a laugh in the process). We’ll start off with the hysterical bit mentioned above.
First, a recap. Commitment-phobe hot non-girlfriend became my girlfriend a week ago, after five months of dating. I did a little dance around the kitchen. I’m a girlfriend! I tricked someone into wanting me! Two and a bit years after the death of my precious wife, there’s a beautiful, witty, vibrant, accepting woman who actually wants to be my girlfriend and I want to be hers. Snap. I’m going to try to be the best girlfriend ever, although I will probably cry more frequently than your average one.
The start of the hysteria at the beginning of the week was when I found a blanket. Huh? I think this is one story that will mainly make sense to my widow readership; I went digging under the sofa to find a spot to put the Christmas tree stand (most fucking awkward shape ever to store in a London sized flat) and discovered a compartment that I never knew was there. In it, I found my late wife’s favourite furry blanket. It’s the blanket we lay on in her tiny little single bed at university eight years ago. The blanket on which we were sitting when I first told her I loved her while she cried because she’d fallen out with her best friend. It’s the blanket I thought she threw away in her anger at me a few days before she killed herself, like many of the items which she knew I had a sentimental attachment to. I accepted it was gone two years ago. But there it was again.
Finding the blanket therefore triggered all sorts of emotions. Of course, there was the obvious ‘God, I miss her‘ feeling. But then there was shock too. I nowadays only see her things when I go looking for them in a special box I’ve set aside and I try not to trigger griefblasts with that too often. To see something so significant of hers out of the blue was unsettling. There was also an element of relief. She didn’t maliciously get rid of the blanket so maybe she didn’t hate me as much when she died! Then there was the nutjob reaction of ‘I must never ever wash this blanket as she is still on it and I want to be close to her‘. I found a couple of her hairs. Her hair was so distinctive and one of her key features. I sobbed. Really, really sobbed – into my dead wife’s favourite blanket. That’s what I get when I try to tidy and clean. I should just stick with Febreeze and scented candles.
The night after blanket-gate, I had a dream visit from my wife. Again, some people will think this is totally bonkers, but I’m a firm believer in dream visits from our loved ones being a way of them communicating with us. I get daily signs, but it’s been such a long time since my wife visited in my sleep. A friend, who was the last person to see wife alive, and I were at university, trying to blag our way past the porter’s lodge by explaining that wife, who was alumni, had passed away. Wife piped up, ‘I’m here!‘. I turned to my right and there she was. She looked just like she always did. She gave me a grin and squeezed my arm. She reassured me. She told me that she’s happy I have a new girlfriend. I woke up crying.
I can’t tell you how much that means to me to see her and hear her. Wife is happy that I’m happy. Frankly, even if she wasn’t happy in the dream, I’d still continue to be with my girlfriend, who I adore, because I kind of have a ‘you went and fucking died so you can shut the fuck up with your judgement‘ attitude too. The manifestation of my happiness at the validation was lots of crying. Lots and lots of tears and feeling unsettled. Let’s remember that, only two days earlier, my poor girlfriend had finally gotten to the stage of being comfortable with calling me her girlfriend. To know I was blubbering away was confusing and overwhelming for her to say the least. Then, the following night, girlfriend had a dream with my wife in it. Let’s not even attempt to dissect her dream.
Wife. Widow. Girlfriend. Lesbian. Bipolar. Labels. Lots of labels and all very hard to reconcile. My girlfriend and I went for a lovely lunch to the place of our first networking date that turned out to be a proper date. It felt good to re-connect and we worried much less about one another. However, just when I was starting to get a handle of my emotions mid week, my past caught up with me. I got trolled by some dipshit ‘bitchy cunt‘, as one of my widow friends called her, who took issue with a Facebook post in which I had tagged my late wife. All hell broke loose and this bitchy cunt now has a shit load of widows and my friends livid at her, and I have it all in screenshots ready for you. More on that next time (click here to skip to that post).