Time and life have taken on the most surreal quality. Last night was ghastly.
When I got in, I went into his room, drew the curtains and turned on the light. Apparently that's crossing huge boundaries.
Have we really got to a point where what I thought was an act of kindness is seen as an invasion? Less than a month ago we shared a room, a bed, a life. He's disconnecting so quickly that I can't keep up with it.
Alone in my room, I howled. I thumped my my arm so hard that there are now bruises. Why? I guess I was trying to turn the searing emotional pain into physical pain. I just ended up with 2 lots of pain.
And then he came in and just sat with me as I cried. We talked through my tears. I must have got through at least a box of tissues.
We care for each other. He couldn't leave me to sob on my own. It would be easier if we hated each other, if there were recriminations hurled around. But there aren't.
And then this morning - after yet another disturbed night, with four hours sleep and a waking time of 4.45am - he brought me my usual cup of tea.
I want this to be a nightmare from which I emerge. But if it isn't, then I would welcome death.
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