They Say That Time Heals A Broken Heart

I still wake up some mornings wondering where on earth I am. In my heart I am back at my real home, waking up to my wonderful way of life. In my heart, I know what my assignment is. I have a place to go, work to do, people to see, purpose and meaning.

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When I wake up here, I wonder what I am doing here? Existing.

Breathe in, breathe out. Get yourself up out bed, go and put the kettle on. Take your painkillers. Put two Weetabix in a bowl and pour some hot water over them. Is there any honey in the cupboard? No, that means it’s plain Weetabix today. Where is the cafetiere? Not in the cupboard, try the dishwasher. There it is. You forgot to put the dishwasher on last night. Well, there is always the Nespresso machine. You hardly ever use it, now is the chance. And remember to put a tablet into the dishwasher and turn it on.

What day is it today? Where am I going? What am I doing? Who will I see? I just don’t remember. Thank goodness I have got myself into the habit of keeping a diary. My head hurts. Alright, sit down, take it easy, just wait for your painkillers to kick in. I feel  lost. Turn the television on. BBC Breakfast, the presenters are helpful in re-orientating you. I like the presenters.

After I was attacked, family, friends and hospital staff thought it would be good for me to be away from London, away from my home, away from my career, away from my world for a while. They said to take all the time I needed. They said that time is a great healer.

I don’t like to be argumentative…but my head has not healed yet. My heart has not healed yet. I am not home yet. I am not back where I belong yet. Jack and I are still estranged – our rift has not healed yet. I am not sure what it is that time is supposed to have healed or be about to heal.

People say such lovely things, and I hope it makes them feel better. Because I am not so sure that what they say is actually true. Still, people are very kind. They do try to make it all better. Time is not so kind. It taunts me. Almost four years – and I am still not back yet. I am just existing in a place that is not my home, not my world, and is meaningless to me.

 

Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #13

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