[granvilleey]

In sickness and in health
Enveloped in a dark rubber chair the bumper descends on me
Arms free, head wiggling I’m held tight and hauled up with ticking judders till
On the edge of a precipice and just for a moment, I see all, bright and clear.
I want to stay and look, revel in its beauty.
See my way home in the sun.
This is good, so good.
Plunge
With a sickening loss of control the depths take me again.
Air against cheeks, tears, stomach churning whipping painful hair, dark and very frightening.
So many times, I can’t move.
As it starts again.

A dark stone-cobbled room with just a single window of light, up high
An in-flow for birdsong and breezes of honeysuckle.
Through the same hole on sunny days, thin papery light projects a vision of hope.
Sometimes I look up and remember the joy of the song, the smell and
Raindrops instead of tears.
Mostly I look down through the pitch, black, floor with splintered edges.
Between the boards s I see gunpowder and a man, enjoying the sound, glow-show.
Waiting for the next rip sound.
He knows I’m there but doesn’t care enough to stop.
Perhaps one day soon he will throw away his matches and lift me off the rollercoaster
And carry me home.

The story behind the poem.
Mike and I have been together for 23 years. We love each other, a lot.
During the early part of our relationship he was “the strong one” and supported me with the things I found difficult like our son’s autism. In 2001 he suffered a double blow a loss if a job he loved in the most unjust way ever and his mum died horribly with cancer. This sat with him
In 2008 he lost his main stress-management strategy, running and began to have lots of physical pain. This led to his depression which has gone on and off for these several years. When depressed he cannot deal with stressors and he binge drinks. We asked for help from the NHS they did not deliver things got worse over a period of about a year when we waited for the help which did not come. Mike lost his job and we nearly lost our home.
My own experiences have been difficult too over the last year. Being a carer and advocate for Mike when he could not care; becoming ill with repeated infections I guess because I got worn out and tired; peculiar bereavement , redundancy, landing a new job, serious injury to my hand, a small inheritance which protected our home for us and of course living with the uncertainty of Mike’s mental health.
The rollercoaster and Tower of London metaphor are very real day to day experiences for me. Mike is getting better but we are not there yet.
I just want to walk on the grass with him and laugh freely , knowing that all things being equal, there isn’t another bad do waiting around the corner for me.
At the moment I am struggling with hope.

[granvilleey]

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