I don’t often look back. I want to be positive and plan for new adventures and memories.

Recently I have begun to realise I’m forgetting what it’s like to live with someone. This doesn’t mean I’ve stopped thinking about Marcia, or our life together.

This, like all of my posts, is not about soliciting sympathy; or even worse pity. It’s just what I’m thinking

It’s a weird feeling, I have only lived alone once before - my brother Kevin went to Australia for a year whilst we shared a house.

Working from home as I do four days a week has it’s good points: I’m home for deliveries. I hear the couriers quiet knock on the front door and their footsteps as they run away whilst I walk down the stairs. They leave the package in the “safe place”.

The safe place being leant against the door in full view of everyone. Although I doubt anyone would take it. Even when out all day it’s always been there waiting for me. I can go for a walk, run or ride the exercise bike at lunch time. Not having to commute gives me extra time as well.

WFH does mean it’s very easy to have little connection with anyone. I talk to Michelle most Wednesdays, I visit Coughlans for bread and the occasional coffee and cake, and go into the office on Fridays. June lives next door so I go there or Ross’ bike shop is another place to visit. We do a lunch time run most weeks. So it’s not as bad as it could be. Saturday involves a longer ride; with the club or on my own. Sunday is coffee/cake at Sheree’s Tea room with Matt.

But that still leaves a lot of alone time. To fill it I usually get out of the house. I ride, run, walk and now swim. Which I think is a bit of a double edged sword. The activities keep me occupied and I do benefit from them, but I fear I’m overdoing it, or am in danger of doing so.

The evenings, after I have dinner are the worst. I know everyone else will be busy wrapping up their days, or preparing for the next. I line up a few youtube videos or listen to music and read. The only time I watch live television is for the news in the morning as I eat breakfast.

I focus on the weekends, probably putting too much pressure on myself to make them count. A recent club ride brought this home to me with a jolt. For the past year I’ve been avoiding large crowds and noisy environments. So club rides can be stressful. If I think there may be too many participents I rendezvous at the cafe, or head out on my own route. The club are great and it’s not a criticism of them. The ride was one of the first of the year, and had many members involved. The day started badly, I discovered as I left the garage that I had a puncture. I sent a message to say I’d meet them in Headcorn village, quickly replaced the innertube and set off. The route started in Oxted so I rode there and must have missed the group by about ten minutes. I set about catching them. They were taking it easy so it was a short chase. I started to calm down and enjoy myself. But the roads are in a terrible state, avoiding potholes, big puddles, gravel, mud and club mates was a major concern. It all started to get on top of me. When this happens I try to drop off the back and make my own way. I’ll let someone know and everything is okay. This usually happens after the cafe stop as we all split up to head for home. This time however, Richard the chairmain and ride leader would have none of it. He came back for me and we rode back to the others who had stopped a mile so up the road. He asked if I was okay and said it was obvious I wasn’t enjoying the trip. This was no reflection on the club, it was just me I said. I took a couple of turns on the front but quickly realised my mind wasn’t in it and again slowed down. Marcel this time encouraged me to remain in the group. So much support from so many people. 

Betty Boo’s Cafe & Coffee House was chaotic, really slow service and a dry toasted tea cake as the only vegan option. We were there for about an hour and I don’t think I said a word. I just didn’t want to engage.

As we left I just wanted to be alone. It was easier to do so now that people were thinking about their journey home. Pat and Brian noticed I’d fallen behind and waited for me. As I caught up to them Pat asked if there was a problem. Of course I said no, but he saw straight through me and said I should stop for a chat. I pulled over, put my head in my hands and burst into tears. Brian asked what was up and offered food. Pat said it was fine and to ride on. We were there for some time, he talked about the issues he had dealt with in the past, and I slowly got myself together. I’d only ever let go in this way to anyone other than family once before. At the beginning of COVID lockdown when I spoke to my boss. It didn’t feel bad or odd. We set off, parting when he headed for the car park and his van. I had the offer of a lift home, but I knew I was going to be okay and declined.

I need to stop avoiding crowds, and be more sociable. Having family, Matt, a great club, brilliant employer and neighbours encourages me. Without them; leaving the house or even getting out of bed might feel impossible some days. Everyone says how brilliant it is that I cope so well, and don’t give in to the darker moods. I’m often very good at covering up how I’m feeling though. And I suppose they are right. I just need to accept it.

I struggle with my thoughts. I feel like I’m in limbo, not sure how to move on. Or even if I should move on. Guilt about whatever direction I take is ever-present.

Some days the past year seems like it’s flown by, other times it feels like it’s been in slow motion. Will that change?