Thursday, 30 April 2009

HNT: Sex and plumcake

Mendicatus tagged me because he said I need to be reminded how sexy I am. Thank you, you sweet man x

So, I have to list five things that are sexy about me. It's difficult because I don't feel particularly attractive at the moment but I have to try to get out of that mindset. Fortunately, I do have people around me who, despite my reticence, can highlight some areas.

1. When I asked Ruf to tell me five things that are sexy about me, he replied: 'Each toe', which was quite romantic until I pointed out that I actually had ten of them. So, I think I have to single out my sense of humour. I'm a great one for quips and the pithy riposte but, more than anything, I laugh a lot! I'm always trying to see the funny side, even when things are particularly depressing.

2. My smile. Now, when you get roadsweepers, dustmen, shopworkers, commuters, schoolparents and their kids all smiling and waving first thing in the morning when you're wearing an outfit that makes you look like a fluorescent weeble, you know you're sexy.

3. My fabulous arse. I kick myself for not appreciating it for so many years, especially now that Nature is threatening to take vengeance. So, I will continue to work as hard as I can on my glutes to keep the cellulite at bay.

4. My writing. I always loved making up fantasies in my head to while away the hours. I used to do it on the train when I was commuting or lying in bed on those warm snuggly Saturday morning lie-in moments. I find words incredibly sexy. I've even been known to indulge in some linguistic wanking (that is putting together the vocabulary for some erotic literary composition), whilst powerwalking or generally exercising. Anything to take my mind off the boredom of working those glutes.

5. My sexual enthusiasm. Once I'm excited, there is no stopping me. I will give you every part of me. All my lust, every fantasy, my body's responses will belong totally to you.

And then I looked at today's HNT and I wanted to slap myself for ever entertaining the notion that I might not be sexy :)

Outfit courtesy of:


Tuesday, 28 April 2009

Fat is a Feminine Issue

'She's leaving me.'

'Sorry?' I pressed the mobile to my ear to try to decipher his tremulous voice above the crackle.

'My wife. She's leaving me.' It was hard to know what to say. She had left him once before, I remembered, but he had persuaded her to see the error of her ways and come back to their home and their four boys. I had always thought that, since that blip, they had a very good marriage.

'She says I'm too fat and, of course, she's right. She says she doesn't find me attractive any more.' I could certainly empathise with that. Despite my appeals to his vanity, my own spouse had ignored my pleas for his health and told me my comments were unwelcome and insulting.

'I've started jogging. Just a short way this morning but I'm determined to at least try. I want her to stay. If I can lose a couple of stone over the next few months, perhaps she'll change her mind and see how much I love her. She means the world to me. She's been my life for the last twenty years. Her and the boys.' Hearing such a tough man articulate his feelings made me quite tearful. Of course I would try to help him as best I could. I tried to explain how this time in a woman's life throws up so many hormonal problems that make her act in a way that is completely out of kilter with her previously stable behaviour.

I couldn't help wondering if the father of my children was speaking of me in such glowing terms, since we were in the same situation... but I knew in my heart that it would not be the case.

I felt sad for my friend but it was difficult to separate my own problems from those of his wife. My friend's language was very oppressive, I could certainly appreciate how she must have felt in response to some of his statements. There was too much allowing and letting and permitting in terms of her life. Mostly done with the best and kindest of motives but the words were very much at odds with how an independent woman would like to be treated. It was not his fault as his vocabulary was not always his strongest suit but his determined nature must have stacked against him in her eyes. Made her feel a prisoner, trapped in the honeyed nest he had built for her and within which he tried his best to nurture her. I hope they can sort out their differences but I fear the task may have become insurmountable as it is unlikely that she will face head-on what is actually causing their problems.

Isn't it bizarre that so many women would rather cite their partner's obesity as the reason for their unhappiness than the reality which is their misogynistic attitude? Whereas men are much more likely to focus upon lack of sexual relations without addressing the psychological explanation behind that physical manifestation.

Sometimes not looking after yourself is a major factor in the breakdown of a relationship and the advent of an affair. It's fine if you both decide to grow old and fat together but if one looks after themself and stays healthy, fit and trim, they might well feel aggrieved that the other has not shown the same respect and just let things go. A lot of men actually like cuddly women but, in that case, they do tend to marry them...

Many men and women can overlook a few extra pounds here and there as it gives them more to hang on to but when the person you fell in love with completely loses their face, as well as their waistline, it can become an irreconcilable difference - especially if there are other unspoken issues to compound it.

Monday, 27 April 2009

Saturday, 25 April 2009

Make It So!

I saw a Counsellor a few days ago.

My first time.

It is probably something I should have done years ago.

He knew I was going. When I told him, he said that I shouldn't feel any pressure to do things quickly if it would impinge upon my recovery. He didn't say so, but I guess it made him feel better. Confirmed his suspicion that it wasn't his fault, but my unstable mental state that had brought us to this pass.

Ruf too is relieved that the appointment has finally come around. It must be tough on him having a non/pre-proper girlfriend who has been close to a basket case at times. He has been a fount of calm, practical support (most of which was reiterated by the Counsellor) but I know he has been very worried about me.

But this is part of the problem, apparently. My problem. I'm telling you about them. Thinking about them, wondering about the impact upon them, rather than focussing on me. I do that all the time. I try to work out the best time to do something based upon its effect upon the people around me, rather than when it is best or convenient for me.

Over the years, I have been told that I am selfish on so many occasions that I have come to believe it. But, in retrospect, those occasions always seemed to be when I wouldn't do what other people wanted me to and, when it comes to the crunch, it would seem that I am actually not selfish enough when it counts. That I allow guilt to control my actions. And, as a result, I put everyone else's feelings before my own to the extent that I become a worthless non-person in my own eyes.

If someone pays me a compliment, I deny it and brush it aside, whereas I remember every single negative comment whether it was intentional or not.

If this continues, the end product would be someone who is unable to perform any of the functions of a parent or even have the ability to care for herself.

The Counsellor said that to try to deal with such a momentous event, as well as the transition of my children from teenagers to young adults, at the same time as my impending Menopause is guaranteed to be a very difficult period but he does not necessarily predict that divorce or separation would be the inevitable conclusion to our discussions, except that this is what I want. I believe that I need my independence so that I can change the dynamic of my relationship with my children. I want them to start to see me in an environment where their father does not control the financial/emotional key as far as they are concerned. They should see me in control of my own destiny, interacting with people who want to spend time with me and don't continually mock me, even if it is partly in jest. As a person who exists in her own right and not as an extension of someone else.

I did not mention Ruf's existence in the session but I think I need to talk to Ruf himself about the whole non/pre-proper girlfriend status. Maybe it is just insecurity on my part but, although I laugh with him about it and know in my heart how much he cares for me, I think, subconsciously, that it is an issue. I need a label that reflects his feelings not his frustration.

I have come away with some exercises that will help me to relax and stop continually tensing my muscles, as well as a way to assess the difficult emotional encounters of the next few weeks in a more dispassionate way. Accessing my rational, unemotional adult brain rather than the 'desperate-to-please' childlike one that I have been wont to use with my family. I was encouraged to continue with this blog, which has been so cathartic - even if that is something of a cliche these days.

He said he thought I was very brave to have come to terms with and controlled my anorexia and extremely self-aware for someone in my situation. And, instead of decrying his assessment of my state, for the first time, I just replied: 'Thank you.'

I have some more sessions booked for June but I know now that I have to start moving ahead with the flat purchase, even if it does scare the pants off me. Because, whilst things may be bearable now when I am not addressing areas that are likely to be contentious, it is unlikely that this situation can continue for long without deteriorating into the abject of misery of last month.

Even if I don't move in straightaway, I will have my bolthole to escape to when that time does come.

As Jean-Luc Picard would say: 'Make it so...'

Thursday, 23 April 2009

HNT: Legging It...

Ruf keeps saying that it's so good to have me back.

I think he means the more self assured, confident, cheerful, optimistic version of Joanna Cake. The one who laughs and enjoys life. Understandably, the pressures of life meant that she got a bit lost over the last few months.

Making the decision and vocalising the solution to the man whose name I bear was very healing. Combine that with a vast amount of good fortune, which has alleviated a lot of my financial worries and, externally, she would appear to be back, providing you do not delve too deeply. However, I know that there are a lot more hurdles to overcome before the butterfly can hopefully emerge from this chrysallis.

There are good days and bad days. The worst are where everyone is behaving well and trying to get along. We almost manage to achieve a nice family atmosphere. That's when I wonder if I'm being selfish in my desire to move away. Couldn't I cope with the situation for just a couple more years?

And then I remember.

I'm not walking away from my kids willingly. I'm leaving a man and an environment that he cultivates which precludes my ability to achieve that same nice family atmosphere on a more regular basis.

When the second and hardest part of the solution has to be voiced, that is the factor on which I have to try to make my children focus. But how to do so without demeaning their father remains problematic.

This is not going to be easy.

And I never comprehended quite how frightening.


Tuesday, 21 April 2009

Stress No More with the Kegel Workout

I think I've extolled the virtues of exercising your Kegels before on this blog. Not for nothing have I summarily discombobulated three rabbits and expelled not one, but two IUDs with the strength of my pelvic floor.

However, I have to face facts. I'm getting older. The Menopause is fast approaching along with the possibility of the long arms of her hormone-deficient outriders: loss of libido, vaginal atrophy and bladder weakness.

Having had my children by Caesarean section, I'm very lucky. I don't automatically wee myself when I sneeze or laugh. However, I have noticed a lack of sensitivity in terms of my pelvic and core muscles due to having them cut and stitched back together more than once. I have also suffered a lot with frequency-related cystitis and, if my bladder is full, I am conscious that I have to really concentrate to hold on to everything when I make a sudden involuntary movement.

So, when I stumbled upon a site that whose main purpose was to provide the means to eradicate this bane of so many women's lives, I was intrigued.

Use Promotional Code SNM3112 at the checkout and get 5% off before 30/06/09.

The products at Stress No More focus on health and wellbeing, with particular emphasis on the female pelvic floor but also addressing male incontinence. Because it's not just confined to us ladies. For men of a certain age, prostate malfunction can cause similar problems.

The current featured weapon in this on-going battle is the new Kegel 8 machine. This is a bit like a TENS machine in that it exudes an electrical pulse onto the required muscle in order to stimulate it. Scientific studies have shown that this type of electrical stimulation of the pelvic floor muscles can improve the tone and performance of the area, thus reducing urge and frequency problems as well as helping with sensitivity and other sexual issues that can be adversely affected by the rise and fall of the different hormone levels of Menopause.

The Kegel 8 literature explains:

The aim of Kegel exercises is to restore muscle tone and strength to the pubococcygeus muscles (PC muscles) in order to prevent or reduce pelvic floor problems and to increase sexual satisfaction. Kegel exercises have been proven to help in the treatment of vaginal prolapse and preventing uterine prolapse in women, bladder weakness and poor sexual response.

Kegel exercises have been proven to be beneficial treating urinary and fecal incontinence in both men and women. Here in the UK they are known as PC Exercises or Pelvic Floor Exercises, and more recently 'Kegels' after Dr Arnold Kegel, a world-renowned gynaecologist.

When it's in top shape the pubococcygeus (PC) muscle also known as the "love" muscle" helps a woman to have strong and lasting orgasms. But with age, pregnancy, and even lack of sex, this pelvic muscle can weaken. Women have long used their squeeze and release exercises Kegel exercises to help, but they're not enough.

"Many women who do self-guided Kegels don't improve because they don't do them right" says Howard I Glazer Ph.D a NYC-based psychologist who specializes in pelvic-floor muscle diagnosis and rehabilitation.

The Kegel8 Pelvic Exerciser makes sure you exercise safely and efficiently, and results will be apparent in just a few weeks. The adage of "use it or lose it" is certainly true for women and their pelvic floor muscles, with Kegel8 improved pelvic health is easily achievable, and the benefits are amazing in all areas of a woman's life.

Basically, it's a small probe that can be inserted either vaginally or rectally. You should apply the special lubricant to aid insertion and conductivity. Then plug the leads into the main body of the machine and select your programme. There are eight different workouts for varying degrees of problem plus three do-it-youself plans.

I used the device each day over the Easter break whilst staying with Ruf and have continued to make the time daily upon my return. Normally the week following my visit would see me trying to fight off a bad attack of cystitis so I'm looking forward to discovering if the Tight and Tone can improve my muscle tone sufficiently to prevent this.

So far, I am very impressed and I can definitely feel some differences down there. Full explanation of using the device to follow next week and a proper progress report in May when, hopefully, the man himself will give his verdict during our next encounter.

In the meantime, Stress No More's pelvic exercising products were mentioned on the Channel 4 programme 'Embarrassing Bodies' this week as part of their campaign to 'Use it or Lose it' vis a vis our pelvic floors. If you want to have a look at the programme online plus the reviews have a look here and skip to about 40 minutes. Basically, the electrically stimulating devices seemed to produce the best results and were the easiest to use.

If you do feel that you would like to purchase something from their large range of pelvic muscle stimulants, I would be really grateful if you could do so via my affiliate link.

For those of you in the US, this product is approved by the FDA but can only be sold there under prescription. However, many American women have ordered direct from StressNoMore in the UK, so you can still use this link. Postage is £20 by Swiftair for quick delivery.

Use Promotional Code SNM3112 at the checkout and get 5% off.

Monday, 20 April 2009

Mute Monday: Outrage

There were lots of pictures depicting actual outrageous atrocities: the Holocaust and other photographic reminders of man's inhumanity to man. If you want to view my real take on Outrage, just type Holocaust or Genocide into Google and view the images. Sobering stuff.


Sunday, 19 April 2009

The Pleasure Ground

At the end of last year, one of my blogging colleagues had a brainwave. Why not utilise the eloquence and experience of the blogging world to start a dedicated site for sex toy reviews?

With so many opinions and such a huge variety of toys being reviewed disparately over the various blogs, why not bring them together in one place so the discerning purchaser can check out their desired object's effectiveness from all angles, shapes and sizes before investing their hard earned cash and risking failure?

I'm sure I'm not the only one to have two or three disappointing items sitting around in various hiding places that cost me in excess of £30 each and were used just the once because they didn't suit me, whether because of size, shape or just the amount of power generated. After all, it's not as if you can pass them on to anyone else if they fail to hit the mark.

And so The Pleasure Ground was born.

Just check the listings in the sidebar for the toy of your choice and click to get the various reviews relating to that item.

New contributors are also welcome, so if you have a review, particularly of a new toy to the site, please contact

Saturday, 18 April 2009

Sugasm #163

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #164? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

Another Night With My Beer Buddy “She nodded, her eyes closing with pleasure, his arm working.”

Blowjob in Red “My voice descended into lust.”

Her dirty talk got me off. twice .“Why does that turn me on so goddamn much?”

Sugasm Editor Sex Work And Honesty: The Correct Answer

Editor’s Choice Stockinged Feet

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Friday, 17 April 2009

UnderRated : Our Tune

11am on a weekday morning. Simon Bates on Radio 1 and Our Tune...

For many years of my life, if I was at home, it was compulsory listening. They were the days when Radio 1 really was the mainstay of the nation's radio listening when it came to popular music. The commercial channels were peripherals and mostly only available in certain areas. Radio 1 was National and played all the current tunes whilst its sisters on 2, 3 and 4 catered to a very different audience.

Simon Bates read out letters from real people containing sad stories, bittersweet tales and happy memories that went on to introduce fabulous songs that meant so much to the writer.

Since then, the concept has been much imitated, but no-one did it better than Simon Bates. To retain a sense of personal affinity with the writer without deteriorating into the sickly. It was a very fine line which he trod with agility.

When I put in 'Our Tune' to Google, this is one of the clips it came up with. The life-time love between a straight woman and a gay celebrity and the tune that epitomised their relationship.


Thursday, 16 April 2009

HNT: View from the Bridge...

OK, ok, it's the view from the bridge of my nose :)

But I am preoccupied with views at the moment. I have to make a choice between a room with a spectacular view over the sea, one looking out over lots of green parkland and one with almost no natural light at all but which has a Brucie bonus related to my hobby which will mean that lots of my friends come to visit on a regular basis.

Decisions, decisions...


Tuesday, 14 April 2009


My emotional turmoil makes me a nervous wreck.

It destroys my libido, desensitises my nerve endings and ruins any possibility of relaxing into an orgasm.

I thought I would not be able to be intimate that weekend. That the extraneous circumstances would make it impossible. The jumble of my personal life, the physical exhaustion of the previous few weeks and the journey, the presence of other people in rooms above, below and adjoining.

As it transpired, it was the last weekend before I stopped the clock and restarted my future. Part of a series of days and weeks when I reached a nadir in terms of self-respect.

Ruf had done his best to rejuvenate me but I almost dreaded bedtime and the prospect of physical proximity in that context whilst, at the same time, my body craved the shelter of his arms around me. As the others went to bed, I felt the fear growing within me. Making my hands shake and my whole body tremble. I was frozen inside and the only choice was the warmth of the bed. He came back from the bathroom as I was removing my clothes and watched me. Standing still, his back leaning against the closed door, he just wanted to look at my breasts, my legs, my body.

It had been several weeks since he had last been able to do so. But I didn't feel beautiful. Just scrawny, nervous and skittish. I climbed clumsily under the duvet and covered my nakedness away from his gaze.

He followed me in, took me in his arms and held me for an age. Soothed, stroked and petted me. Wrapped me up in his love until, finally, I was calm in his embrace and ready for his lips on mine.

His mouth sucked everything out of me. All the anxiety, sorrow, resentment, anger. Every destructive emotion just melted away like the reverse of a Dementor's kiss. I was left warm and protected, almost numb. As if I was floating with the black clouds of my relief fluttering across my closed eyelids like flocks of migrating birds, totally released from the stress.

I became aware of him hard against my thigh but he made no move. Only whispered in my ear that he loved me and kissed me again. Long and deep until, like the most effective Expecto Patronum, the bad things had been magically driven away and I was safe... and ready.

The growing ferocity of his passion engulfing me as the tide of his lust overwhelmed the defensive dam of my inhibitions and his fingers liquefied my body's desire. The little voice in my mind tried one last assault to halt the process but things were too far gone.

There was only his body... and mine.

Communicating in the way they know best.

Shutting out the nay-sayers and the doom mongers and revelling in pure animal magnetism. Joining together to achieve the ultimate in mutual release, with faces contorting in our attempts to hold back the usual verbal acknowledgement. In silence, we climbed the mountain and dropped over the edge.

And, in the aftermath, I felt myself smile for the first time in so many days.

Sometimes, it's best just to shut up and let nature take its course.

Monday, 13 April 2009

Mute Monday: Tea and Cake

Get your Yerba Mate from:

If you use the promotional code SNM3112, you can get 5% off.


Saturday, 11 April 2009

A Town Called Malice

I'd never listened to the words before.

It was a song from my teenage years. A time when my life was in upheaval because I was still a child but with a huge number of adult responsbilities.

Ruf laughed at me because, yet again, I had said I was sorry about something for which I had no need to apologise. It was not my error or fault for not being a mindreader and thus being able to preempt a desire or prevent a problem.

He started humming the tune and then mumbling the words:

And stop apologising for the things youve never done,
Cos time is short and life is cruel -
But its up to us to change
This town called malice.

...which, of course, became an earworm in my head so I had to look up the lyrics.

Struggle after struggle - year after year
The atmospheres a fine blend of ice -
I'm almost stone cold dead
In a town called malice.

It seemed to sum up quite succinctly the way I feel about the last few years in terms of my homelife. The issues are unchangeable but, with Ruf's help, I was starting to be able to deal with the effects of those stresses in a way that did not leave me in a black hole of frustrated depression.

Because, as Paul Weller sings:

... I'd sooner put some joy back
In this town called malice.

It was another reason that I knew that things could not continue as they were. Something had to change radically to stop my life from spiralling out of control into the abyss.

I have to regain my independence in order to show my children that I do have the self-respect to fight back. That marriage is not all about sitting on your hands and becoming submerged in misery.

I need my own space where I can say without fear of contradiction that something should or should not be done, that there are acceptable codes of behaviour which involve consideration for others.

And, you know, since I had that first conversation, things have started to improve in terms of the relationship with the man whose name I bear. In an effort to reach the most satisfactory outcome for our children, we have talked more in the last few days than in the last two years.

Certainly those discussions do not relate to blame or behaviour or intimacy so there is no going back.

But, if it is possible to have a civilised divorce, then we will do our utmost to achieve it.

Thursday, 9 April 2009

HNT: What Lies Beneath

So, here's the thing.

I'm looking at apartments.

It's been many years since I last lived in one. I'm used to being detached. Separated from my neighbours and their noises and smells. Secure in the knowledge that if I want to have a particularly loud interaction with my vibrator in my empty house, there will be no audience.

During my hunt for the perfect new home for an independent woman, I have noticed that there is a tendency for architects to join living rooms and master bedrooms with their counterparts in the place next door, which just seems barking in terms of privacy. It means you have people in the next room and the one underneath and possibly the one above. I can't see me having the balls to indulge in a particularly rumbustious orgasm with that sort of proximity when I have to face the neighbours the following morning.

I'm looking for your guidance and advice. Is it better to be the flat above or the flat below in terms of noise transference? Both heard and transmitted...


Tuesday, 7 April 2009

Have you seen her...?

We sat together opening the cards. It was a celebration. 25 years since we wed.

For both of us a second chance at happiness and we were. Deliriously so. All the sadness of past relationships forgotten in the pure joy of being together. Sure, there were the usual problems with a whole bunch of kids in their teens to keep life interesting, but we coped together. Shared the troubles and halved the problems. We built a huge happy family that saw no steps or in-laws. They were all siblings, all our children, all one unit.

Learning about sex again in our late forties was unbelievable. To rediscover the pleasure of intimacy after so many cold unfeeling years was a delight. To rejoice in our own nakedness without the precluding barriers of young children in the house. We made love with as much gusto as we embraced all the other bonuses of being able to retire early. We travelled and saw the world together. Beginning every new day in each other's arms and finishing it the same way, normally after a few glasses of wine and a good meal with friends or just chez nous.

We watched our children have their own offspring. We babysat, we refereed, we guided, we bankrolled and we loved for so many years.

And all the time it was happening, slowly eating away at her. Imperceptibly at first. She would forget things - the names of new friends or arrangements - or need help to complete a job. I laughed and began to assist her with various household duties. I loved her, it was no chore to me so I gradually took on more and more and allowed her to be the socialite. The sound of her laughter was the finest music to my ears. The sight of her smiling face better than any priceless painting.

Until the time I realised that she was unable to do even the simplest thing like make herself a cup of coffee. The specialists said it was premature dementia and unusual in one so young but there were medications to alleviate the problems and allay the furtherance of the disease.

It was only when I saw the brain scan that I realised the extent of the damage. Whole chunks of her brain seemed to have disappeared and been replaced by fluid. The prognosis was not good but the drugs were working and preserving what remained. It didn't really matter too much because I could do most things for her, choosing her outfits so that everything still matched, helping her to put things on the right way round. All she had to do was sit and chat and smile and just be... her.

I know they were all very worried as she deteriorated further but I wouldn't even consider taking the action they hinted at. She was my wife, my love and I would care for her. 24/7 if necessary... and, of course, it was. For seven years, I wrapped her up in my love and did it all until the specialists insisted that, for the sake of my own health, the only choice was full-time care.

So, now, every evening I sit on my own. It's funny but, with all the people I know, I've become such a lonely man. As it says in the song, 'I thought I had the future in the palm of my hand', only to find it ripped away progressively with the venom of the cruellest of maladies.

I visited her every day and watched her slow descent towards the inevitable, the increasingly violent frustration in her once so gentle nature. I would interrogate the family after visits: 'Have you seen her? How did she seem?'

I noted every stage, each face, each song she no longer recognised, even ones from her past. Those memories were the last to go until she no longer recognised her own children - even from photographs when they were babies - and did not tap her toe to a once familiar and much-loved tune.

But, even on that morning, she still turned her head at the sound of my voice and put her cheek up for a kiss. Her eyes seemed the same in her thin face. I searched for recognition but the expression was vacant. And yet, surely just that movement towards my cheery hello must signify that some tiny part of her still knows me.

So we sat as I opened the cards... our cards... and showed them to a non-comprehending stranger. Tears blurring my eyes and all fingers and thumbs in my sadness. People had chosen carefully in their remembrance. No flowery language wishing us a wonderful future together for there was none and, for her, now there was not even a past.

There is only the present, institutionalised and sterile.

Without her I feel so lost and my own future remains on hold whilst I look for any sign of 'her' within that blank stare. For as long as even the flicker of her ghost remains trapped within, I have to come.

I know they all think I should stop visiting and begin to put my life back together but everywhere I go, whatever I do, I see her face, hear her laughter and it breaks me up that she's no longer there with me. I know I can't hide from the memories, although day after day I've tried. I don't want their comfort for it just emphasises my loss. I drink alone, I live my solitary life in stasis - neither divorced nor a widower.

I keep saying to myself 'She'll be back' but each time I know again that I've lied for this is the living death that is Alzheimers. There are no more drugs, we have had the last false dawn.

We exist in this half-life awaiting the final liberating stroke that will allow us all to mourn her loss properly and still I berate myself when I wish for her merciful release before the day finally arrives when I can no longer see her.

Monday, 6 April 2009