Reflections on living in a cupboard, green posh paint, a panic whirlpool and the importance of being "Useless"

What is self care other than two words that put together look twee and annoying? A batshit ramble through a clutter-fucked clusterfuck of a life

I was, as he says, “useless”.

Did I tell you I am living in cupboard? People keep telling me to practice self care as I wade down the estuary of this break up with all its weird tides as the last 15 years of my relationship meet the cold bitter sea of silence, recriminations, regret, remorse and the great unknown beyond.

Cupboard Life. This picture gives me a little shame.

And so I live in a cupboard because a good night’s sleep gives me a resilience like nothing else. Sleep is number 1 for self care. I can’t sleep in my bed because he is in it. Perhaps he will take the bed when he leaves?

I sleep in my study, a small room, an office come wardrobe come spare room come box room full of stuff. It’s not bad. Not really a cupboard. But there is nowhere to place a foot on the ground once I fold out the sofa bed. Lying on the thin mattress on the fold out bed I look at my environment, this place where I write stuff, and cringingly understand why he grew to slowly detest me. Him, tidy, and ordered, and pristine. Me, not. Gubbins, ugly gubbins. Everywhere…

(Sorry for the paywall here, do not jump over it if you are disorientated by endless dog legs. Regular readers will be used to this, it’s how I get to the point. It’s the batshit ramble style. Anyone new here, who doesn’t mind dog legs, please consider a subscribe. A year works out over 30% less than the price of monthly)… now back to work