Tags: [who] vicky clarke


The life and death of Vicky Clarke

I have been trying to figure out for months how I was going to say what I need to say. For a while, I thought I never would. I thought I would take my leave and be done. A part of me is still wary of the fact that I'm deciding to do this at all. But I've had a lot of conversations with my therapist. And the thought came to me very assuredly about two hours ago that I was going to do this tonight.

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As I reminded my husband the other night, I hide my pain. I don't like people to know about things that hurt me the most. And I do it with everyone, to a certain extent. There are things I can't tell my husband. Things I can't tell my brothers. Things I can't tell my friends. And there are things I can't tell you.

I will say this much. Over the past month or so I've come as close to a breakdown as I've been in over a decade. I've spent extensive time thinking about Mum and thinking about... timing. She planned her death at a specific point for a specific reason. And I've contemplated my own timing, should I ever get to that point. I know I sound morbid and combined with the subject of this entry it sounds... bad. I promise you I will never do to my children what my mother did to me and my brothers. But the planning of it was oddly cathartic. I don't know why. Perhaps because it gave me something else to think about besides... everything else that's been breaking me. It was a purely hypothetical thought process as opposed to my very unpleasant reality.

But this whole experience has put this song in my head. I'd mentioned it... God only knows when. It made me cry then, and it makes me cry now- though to be fair, most things make me cry now.

That song, in all honesty, says more than I can bring myself to tell you. Which is part of why I'm leaving this place. At the very least until after the New Year, potentially forever. I don't know yet.

(no subject)

Mary and I spent the day watching a documentary series on The Windsors. She's still in such a fluff over her beloved Prince Harry. She wants him to be happy but wishes he'd be patient for her- she didn't want to break up a marriage.

I love my daughter. She's been so chatty and distracting and completely oblivious to my all around unpleasant cycle of moods. Or perhaps she's not really been oblivious and she's purposely trying to put my mind on other things. I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case, she's quite intuitive. Though she's a bit off the mark and, in part, making things worse in ways she couldn't possibly have known about.

But at least she's starting to talk about how she wishes William had been a girl so the matriarchy of the Windsors would continue. It makes me smile, and that's not nothing.

(no subject)

I remember my world as it was yesterday, and I am envious because I look at my world as it may be tomorrow, and it terrifies me. It is full of uncertainty, full of well dressed wounds having the bandages ripped off. Blood and pain and a heart struggling to beat.

I'm being dramatic. I know this. But I made a refuge of a house built of lies. The walls are going to come crashing down and there's going to be quite a mess, one that will take some time to clean up. And even then, the world will never quite be the same.

(no subject)

There are not enough distractions in the world to keep me calm today. I've got a virtual stack of cases from work to be looking over. But every person I look at only raises my blood pressure. All these poor souls trigger heartache. So I put them away and try to watch something, anything to keep my mind occupied so I will stop hyperventilating and crying. Nothing seems to work.

I'm doing this because I reached out to my therapist and she suggested trying to share. But I don't really know how to share these particular thoughts that have left me gutted.

Dave won't hear any of it. He's refusing to... "encourage pointless feelings," as he's saying. He's about had it with me this weekend and he won't speak to me unless I look like I have myself put together.

It's quite lonely, but I don't really blame him, for reasons beyond what I can explain. But he's one of the  three people I feel I can talk to about it all. The other is my therapist, and then there's Cami. But the poor woman must be overburdened with my emotional upheaval. So I'm left to vagueries with you unfortunate ones.

I'm sorry.


Yes, I am on pain medication

Lately I've been fixating on this idea of... trying to sense the empty space in my body where my womb used to be. It's an odd thing to be fixating on, but Josh had a science textbook open with the anatomy of a frog and it's stricken me at how well utilized the body cavity is. There's not a lot of wasteful space. Our organs are fitted together quite nicely. And now there's this... void. A lone ovary pumping out hormones and eggs that will just... fall away and be reabsorbed. For some reason it feels this tragic sort of image. Futility and the continuing leap into the abyss... falling into the hole inside of me.

There's something oddly poetic about there being a physical manifestation of the emptiness I've felt. In those times where I feel drained... of hope, of energy, of happiness... I can tell myself it is just my emotions matching my body. That is, of course, if I can stop myself from visualising wrapping up all those negative emotions like they were tangible and putting them in that vacant space inside of me. Because that's where my ridiculously Victorian heart and mind take me. Fill the void so you can be whole again, but fill it with heartache and pain. It makes no sense at all. Yet I let myself think it anyway.

I moved wrong in my sleep and woke up from the agony. Hence the pain medication. I am so tired but I don't want to go to sleep thinking about this. I don't want to risk this ridiculousness stumbling into my dreams. Time to catch up on The Great British Baking Show and chat with Cami, who's my on-call middle-of-the-night support. I'm sure she's already finished it and has made notes on Paul Hollywood's pointed glances in each episode. Yes. That's what needs to happen.

Fill the void with cakes and laughter for now.

(no subject)

Sitting at home is driving me mad. I managed to convince Dave to go get some of my paperwork so I have something to do besides getting lost in my own thoughts. I nearly had a panic attack yesterday because... well. The burden of an unquiet mind.

Initially Dave had insisted I just try reading one of my books. Ms. Bronte and Mr. Hardy have always been welcome companions. But lately, I can't manage. I can't explain why beyond... I need to anchor myself in reality right now. Fantasy and fiction lead me down unsafe paths. So it's  back to the pain and suffering of my clients. That, I know how to handle. Without it there is only my own. And I can't deal with that right now.


(no subject)

The purpose of narcotic pain medication is not necessarily to entirely alleviate pain. It is in part to put you in such a state that you don't care much about anything.

I am glad they've been providing me with as much as they have. The night before I came in for my hysterectomy I had a dream that I had another baby. It was entirely unexpected in the dream- I'd had no earthly idea that I was pregnant. But suddenly there was a child emerging from me. It was a girl. She was small, on the purple side, and at first wasn't breathing. But she grew rapidly, into a beautiful little girl of 5 or 6.

So I came in to the hospital with her image in my mind, in my heart. I remember how much it hurt to realize she didn't, wouldn't, couldn't exist. But now I have my morphine to keep those feelings from rooting too terribly. But I know once they stop giving me the strong analgesics I'll have that to contend with. I am not looking forward to it.

But everything went well. Uterus, tubes, and one ovary gone. I should be going home tomorrow if all goes according to plan. I told work I would look over cases from home starting mid-November. Hopefully by December I'll be going back full time. Normalcy will be a blessing.


(no subject)

I have been crying for quite some time. I don't know how I've managed to stop because I still feel quite unsteady. Exhausted but entirely unable to sleep. I can't remember having felt this... lost... in years. I don't know which way is up.

I'm afraid my time in this place is coming to a close. I came here for an outlet but right now I don't... I don't see how I can do that for much longer. I suppose I'm being dramatic. No, I know I'm being dramatic. And vague, I'm sure. But I don't know how to put this feeling into better words. They form in my brain but I can't... they won't leave there. They won't make the journey to my fingertips. All the more sign that I should be going, really.

Not that I'm making any more pertinent decisions tonight, considering the state I'm in. I'm not sure why I'm even posting this. I suppose I needed something to do besides sitting around being all weepy.

Please feel free to ignore this. I'm actually embarrassed that I'm saying anything. Your silence is a blessing.