is next to god awfulness.
l enjoyed my London trip on so many levels. Though particularly because I had time to suit myself, time away from pressure of work, time away from the kids, all types of timetables. Time away from decision making, which I abhor with a passion!
Sometimes, though thankfully not often when l am alone. Sitting in a coffee shop. Or in line in the bank or supermarket. Waiting in the car in line for the car park. Usually alone waiting. I get the heebee jeebee's. In plain speak a panic or anxiety attack. It comes in the form of a butterfly fluttering in my chest, a screaming in my head. Silent screaming. But I feel the noise. White noise. That drives darkness through the day like a knife through butter. It lasts but a few moments, but a dry fear stays a while. Remaining hidden amongst the layers of feelings and experiences we call life.
Whilst walking alone through the streets of London, it lurked. Unacknowledged. Invisible. Whilst feeling the beat of the city's heart. I walked. Talked less. Even to myself. Thought. Wondered. Wandered and became myself again. The me that is my core. The child. The woman. Mother and wife by happenstance or a mild determination. Fate. Perhaps the person I will be in my last heart beat. My last breath. She walked beside me in the darkness. She stirred and I quietly remembered.
Later I was gently gripped by the hand. And suddenly disconcerted by my surroundings. The naked room in which l slept. Two nights. A rectangular room. High ceilings. Magnolia walls. A single bed. Crisp white sheets. One blanket. One bedside table. Light overhead flush in the ceiling. One small dining table. One dining chair. One wardrobe. Dark wood. One occasional chair. One sink mirror. Clean. Crisp. Basic. Raw. Functional. Somewhere to put my toothbrush. Lay my head.
The nakedness of the room. Cell like. Was sad and lonely. Pungent with fear. Evoking memories of a time of solitary living. For me a great hollow. A nothingness. That nothingness slowly crept its way up into me. Foreboding soaked its way through my skin. Leaving a damp patch of lonely. A bruise from days gone by. A gentle reminder of how it felt. Isolated by circumstances. Utterly alone. Christmas and New Year came and went. Unprepared I chipped away at the ice box for remnants. Sleeping to escape the clock. Cocooned in lonesomeness.
Nowadays I can yearn for alone time. Very different from lonely time.