Day 128: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

He’s never coming back. What an awful thought. He has to come back. I keep seeing him. It’s just not possible that Darren is dead. It can’t be the end. It not possible that I will never see him again.

He was my one. He was my rock. He helped make me. I had him there beside me. He was someone for me to talk to, to get encouragement from when I was at my lowest.

What do I do? He’s never coming back. He’s gone, and he’s never coming back. You know, I’d be as well to get some kind of fucking electric shock treatment like that fill with Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet to get him out of my head, because I’ve spent so long with an ache that’s unbearable. It’s unbearable even to look at photos, because I don’t want to see him in the past tense all the time.

All those photos over the years, and they all stab my heart, so it’s easier to not look at them.

Today is the 29th of September. This is the second session of crying I’ve had today. I phoned the doctor for emergency counselling for myself and Daniel. In Northern Ireland, emergency counselling takes three weeks to get someone to talk to you, and then it takes another three weeks from that. Six weeks for an emergency counselling session. Fuck me. How is it that a proper functioning system if takes six weeks for emergency help?

Other people are worse than me. I mean, I’m just miserable as fuck and not seeing a light at the end of a tunnel, upset as fuck. But there are people who are worse off than me. How are they meant to deal with that? It’s disgraceful.

What an empty, empty, empty feeling it is to know that I will never see Darren again. To not see someone you’ve seen since 1993, who’s been part of every facet of your life, and they’re not there.

And I’m doing stupid things. My new one is to look at men wearing jeans / trainers to see if they’ve got the same sort of body figure as Darren, trying to imagine him. I probably look like a pervert.

I need to see him one more time. I need to know he is okay, because we aren’t okay. We are not okay. He is our third.