08/06/2026
This life is so fu***ng strange.
My safe person is on a shelf under my TV.
A shelf. Under the TV. Amongst the chaos of a life we used to sit in together like it was normal.
And I’m still supposed to know what’s for dinner.
What the actual f**k.
I don’t know.
Maybe toast again.
Maybe I sit outside with a cup of tea and smoke ci******es and stare at nothing like that counts as dinner now.
It might.
Who even knows anymore.
It’s not even the grief that breaks me.
Grief makes sense.
You love someone that much, they die, and your whole system goes nope, not coping.
Fair.
But everything after that?
That’s the part that makes me feel like I’ve slipped into a parallel universe where everyone agreed to act normal and didn’t tell me.
The washing still needs doing.
The kids still need things.
The house still falls apart if I don’t hold it together.
Bills still arrive like nothing has happened.
What the f**k is that.
How is that real.
How am I meant to be a functioning adult when my safe person is literally in a box on a shelf and I’m supposed to just… reply to emails.
Mike used to be the one I’d ask.
Everything.
Big things. Stupid things. “Am I overreacting or is this person insane?” things.
Now it’s just me.
Just me making decisions like I didn’t just lose the person who made me feel like I wasn’t doing life wrong.
And I keep forgetting.
I still turn around sometimes like he’s going to be there.
Still catch myself thinking I’ll tell him later.
Still start sentences and realise there’s nowhere for them to land.
And then it hits again.
Oh.
Right.
He’s gone.
Like my brain hasn’t fully accepted the memo.
It’s not that he died.
I know that.
It’s everything after.
The fact the world didn’t pause.
Didn’t crack open.
It just kept going.
Like this is normal.
Like this is fine.
Like this isn’t completely insane.
Honestly.
What the f**k is any of this.
How am I meant to keep living here.
