Haunted House

13/01/24 

I can just about hang together while I’m at work, but coming home to an empty house each night is both suffocating and soul shattering. 

It used to be that an hour or so with the house to myself was like a little treat, time where I could please myself, but this unending, oppressive silence is like being sentenced to life in solitary confinement.  Solitary confinement with ghosts. 

Every inch, every nook, every cranny of this house holds echoes of him – after twenty years he’s within the fabric of the place, every wall, floorboard, light switch….

Then there’s the more immediately obvious things: the sofa he lounged on, the abandoned shoes on the rack in the hallway, the sweet treats in his special jar in the cupboard, the jumper that still smells of him….

The spectre of him is all around, all the time, reminding me of his absence and my solitude. 

Where he’s left spaces, I’ve tried to fill them; my stuff has been moved around in the bathroom cabinet, the cube unit that once housed his foldable clothes is now home to my boots and shoes, and it is nice that the coat rack is tidy rather than overloaded (little wins).

Still thrashing about, looking for some kind of a plan that I can cling to, some path through all this but not as yet really found one.

Best I’ve come up with, for right now, is to start to exercise properly again.

In some mad fit I’ve ordered an exercise bike, which will fit nicely down the side of the bed he used to need to walk on.  Another space filled. 

I decided if I’m going to get into this fitness lark I might as well go the whole hog, so I’ve also ordered some dumbbells, a weighted vest, a core/abs exerciser, a fitness tracker watch, a yoga mat, and some appropriate clothing.   

The thinking behind this seeming insanity is multi-faceted: it will give some structure and purpose to otherwise empty and desolate evenings, it may help create appetite/help combat the ever-present stress nausea and repeated puking, it will help me get a body that doesn’t make me cringe when I see it in the mirror.

Now all I have to do is learn how to properly use the equipment, and my body, to get the results I want.

And of course, I then actually have to do it, regularly.

Hesitant to write this as I may hate seeing it in print in the future, but I promised myself honesty, so here goes:

While I’m setting out to do this for myself (I want to be the best version of myself that I can; I will not be less than because of him), there is a part of me that hopes if I get into shape, look fit and healthy, he’ll see me with fresh eyes, remember how it used to be, want me again.

It’s not the primary reason, but it is a part of it.

JP