You don’t look like you’re falling apart

Oh but I am

You don’t look like you’re falling apart.

Holly pulls back from the hug I had told her I desperately needed, studies my smiling face.

I bury myself back in her body, sinking into warmth.

To her shoulder I silently reply: Oh but I am.

The many faces of falling apart

Finishing my dad’s eulogy on my phone’s Notes app, sobbing in an underlit corner of a café, after its first line came to me during a haircut an hour earlier that was supposed to be pampering but turned into me holding back tears while discussing my soon-to-be fringe with my hairdresser.

Asking my therapist for an “emergency” session because I’d just realised something devastating, and her seeing me that very afternoon, out of breath for sprinting to be on time.

Sharing with Patrik said revelation, him saying I’m not horrible for thinking that, just human.

Messaging my boss Mark and Head of Ops Olina: I’ve requested time off. I’m falling apart. Them responding: We’ll make it work, let us know what you need.

Booking a Shiatsu massage for the following afternoon so I can lie in a dark room with soothing music for 90 minutes while the masseuse crushes me into oblivion.

Resting my chin on Holly’s shoulder during the movie screening she had invited us over for. A beautiful documentary too few had seen. Her whispering, are you OK, during particularly graphic scenes. Me going um-hmm and nestling my head against hers.

Asking my partner to organise a birthday party for me this year because, even though I hate parties, I want to revel in the gaze of all my closest friends at once.

Laughing with Olina about the merits of strategic laziness and waiting for things to sort themselves out. As they usually do.

Reading a line in Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous and bursting into tears at another café whose owner had invited me for a coffee trial as they reopened after 14 months of personal travails. The owner approaching, are you OK, would you like a green juice, me nodding.

Taking an hour to write this newsletter at the same café three days later. No longer crying. Feeling better for exiling my troubled thoughts onto the page.

Asking my dad, would you like me to come, and see you soon not knowing if I will.

Cracking up when my partner stands on my feet and gives me a back hug at the same time, two of my favourite things.

Messaging: Jess. I am so sad. So, so sad. Her sending back big virtual hugs and the following day: Just wanted to give you a good morning to wake up to to know I'm thinking of you, nothing more nothing less.

Another message, also to Jess, weeks prior: I've been barely holding together the past few days. Her saying, you don't have to. Fall apart if you need.

That line from Ocean:

They say nothing lasts forever but they’re just scared it will last longer than they can love it.

What do you think?

Are you falling apart?

If you are, it’s OK. Some of us are, we all have, at some point we all will. Life is difficult and we can’t be fine all the time. Share with us your plight and exile your burdens onto my page. Please hit “reply” or leave a comment—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. If you want, share this post with someone who might feel less alone for reading this.

Until next Friday… Stay thoughtful,

Val