It’s all fake.

Getting out of bed, getting dressed, making my hair, smiling, talking, working – it’s all a pretence, an attempt to keep things looking ‘normal’, creating an illusion of ‘moving on’.

Inside my heart and mind, many times everyday, I am back there, right at the point where everything changed. Forever.
His face is right in front of my eyes but I can’t touch it. He is so close and yet ……

When offered something he didn’t want to eat or when he wanted to stay home while we were going out, “I am ok.”, he would say, “I am ok.”

The mean voice in my head still takes every opportunity to have a go at me – Bad Mum.
Could have paid more attention.
Could have spent more time with him.
Could have stood up for him.
Should have looked harder for his ear-phones.
Should have made sure there was enough of his favourite food at home.
Should have known better … etc.

I am getting wise to it but sometimes it finds me when I am not ok.

Here’s a poem, Bluebird, by Charles Bukowski (1992):

There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see you.
There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks never know that he’s in there.

There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay down, do you want to mess me up?
You want to screw up the works?
You want to blow my book sales in Europe?
There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be sad.
Then I put him back, but he’s singing a little in there,

I haven’t quite let him die
and we sleep together like that with our secret pact
And it’s nice enough to make a man weep,
but I don’t weep.
Do you?