I have just come home from London, where the above photo was taken. Unmistakably, as you can see, Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, the snapshot is from a capsule in the London Eye. I suffer from vertigo, and all I could think of when entering the capsule was a memory of seeing one of them - a capsule that is - being carried swiftly down the Thames on a boat for repairs the last time I was in London. Had it fallen down? Had it broken in mid-air and shot through the sky to land on the river? Ripped itself loose from its bearings and dangled sideways or upside down for a few horrendous moments before hurtling through the grey London mist to splash wildly up the walls of Big Ben? Rational sense is absent when you have any sort of anxiety or paranoia.
Terrified but brave
The London trip was my Christmas present to daughter Johanne and granddaughters Jelena and Mira. Mira, who is also scared of heights, was the one who persuaded me to take the enormous Ferris wheel while the other two were shopping, and we could feel each other's hands sweating while we were queuing to enter the capsule. "How are you dealing with this?" I asked my ten year-old granddaughter. "Well, you just have to conquer your fears," she replied.
Okay.
Stiff smiles
London is one of my favourite cities, but this visit was on my granddaughters' terms. Their choices, their wishes. British Museum, London Eye, shopping, Madame Tussauds, a musical in the West End. Well, I managed three compromises - underwear shopping in Marks & Spencer's, a massage while the others were at Madame Tussauds, and the fantastic Les Misérables which is playing in its 29th year at the Queen's Theatre. The latter was not really a compromise - none of us had seen it. Otherwise we pretty much agreed on everything.
Instead of hotel rooms I rented a flat for us through Airbnb, which for the second time proved to be a perfect choice. For much less than the price of two ugly hotel rooms in expensive London, we spent five nights in pure luxury in the most wonderful location just off Portobello Road in Notting Hill. THIS is where Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts courted! Actually William Thacker (Hugh Grant) lived just around one corner, and his bookshop was round the other. I was Anna Scott for a day or two there… (No one spilt their orange juice on me though…)
Supper "at home" in Notting Hill
Viwe from my bedroom
View on Portobello Road from our flat. Market day. Old guy with ghetto blaster on full volume, never tiring of his energetic moves. Even older woman (in white shoes and white hair) considers joining in).
Flat on top floor
I slept well in London. No wonder perhaps, when you see the above photo of my bedroom and the view on the mews off the Portobello Road. I heard nothing, except the bells of the All Saints Church in the morning, just beyond the Dunworth Mews. I had brought my little helpers to London - the Oxazepam and the sleeping pills - but had no need for either of them. Counting my sleeping pills, I have taken ten altogether since I got the prescription at the end of August last year, so I'm not exactly an addict. I've halved them when they've been needed though, so I've taken them twenty times. (That's 0.833 pills per month). The Oxazepam (3-4 consumed in about a year) are fantastic - they remove worries, anxiety, insomnia, unrest and uneasiness all in one go, but knock me out completely way into the following day. As today. I've been dizzy, unconcentrated, tired and blue.
Yes blue. Yes sad. Yes depressed.
But to compensate and try to feel better I did the following today, though it took a lot of effort: Appointment with brother-in-law the dentist (never a problem - he keeps telling me my teeth are perfect). Dizziness nearly made me pass out in his dentist chair. Drove my car through the car wash. Had lunch (minestrone soup) and caffe latte at neighbourhood café. Returned home and cleaned windows in my flat and they turned out perfect (good cleaning kit).
I was exhausted but did feel better.
I see some dark clouds looming on the horizon for me soon. My husband died on Easter Monday - the 6th April last year. Easter is coming up, though it's earlier this year. April 6 is approaching.
I feel my despondency returning with full force these days. My aloneness, my deep deep loss. I try so hard to stay positive and brave, but hey! I'm not. I have friends who tell me that I am, but I am not. I am forever changed by my loss, and my emotions and anxieties still get the better of me and probably will for a long time. My everyday fears are real - not being able to cope with the smallest details, not having that familiar man to lean on, my best friend and companion, the one I always confided in and trusted. His safe warm body next to mine. The total emptiness on that side of the bed.
The real fear of lying down at night and knowing my head will spin with unstoppable thought threads.
Conquer your fears. Sometimes it takes a ten year-old granddaughter to tell you and to know you. I will do it - in time - with her support, and the support of all the other fantastic people that form a loving and flowing but tight circle around me.
In time.
Pizza by the metre in Notting Hill
