Saying No
Mimi Someoneorother, posh bird, keeps getting in contact about some play she is writing for the Edinburgh Fringe about Thursday 7th, can she use my blog? Would I 'get involved in rehearsals? ' Would I record a voice interview? '
No, no and no. Argh and eurgh. No.
I saw a trauma specialist yesterday. He pointed out, gently, that ever since the bomb went off and I started to calm people down, help them off the train, and give the witness statements to the media, (so they didn't go hassling the more traumatised/injured), write the blog and help other survivors who've contacted me, I've been 'on duty', getting people off the damn train, making sense of it, leading them to safety, protecting them, helping out.
It's a full-time job. And I'm exhausted. I have had some time off work but I felt like I was working, not resting. And I haven't had time to grive much, or deal with it. Or even have a rest from it. Apart from 5 hours reading a kid's book at the weekend. And now I'm back at work, and it's relentless.
I need a holiday. I need out. I need people like Mimi to go away.
I had lunch with Patrick, a young man from work, he was clearly still shocked, afraid to ask for time off, afraid to ask for help, afraid of being seen as weak. He would only talk to me ( 'because you were there'). He wouldn't even talk to his mum, poor soul. He finally accepted that it was okay to ask for a bit of time off. So that was a good thing.
Still can't sleep myself though, despite paying £55 for a massage. John on way home from work, it's 10.10pm now, will be here by 10.45pm, so no point trying to go to bed.
Managed to finally talk to Ronan, the partner of one of my best friends, Ian. Ian's mother died of cancer a week ago. Ian is round his sister's house; the funeral is tomorrow. We've been texting almost daily, but it's not the same, need to give him a hug. Hard when they are up in Yorkshire. My heart goes out to Ian and Ronan . Sent them a case of wine, because dammit, we all need a drink after this week.
Whilst I have been caught up in this bomb stuff, Ian has been caught up in his own private grief of his mother's dying. One of the things that I am angry about is that this bomb got in the way of us being there for each other when we needed each other.
The wine I am drinking tastes sour. Which feels appropriate.
No, no and no. Argh and eurgh. No.
I saw a trauma specialist yesterday. He pointed out, gently, that ever since the bomb went off and I started to calm people down, help them off the train, and give the witness statements to the media, (so they didn't go hassling the more traumatised/injured), write the blog and help other survivors who've contacted me, I've been 'on duty', getting people off the damn train, making sense of it, leading them to safety, protecting them, helping out.
It's a full-time job. And I'm exhausted. I have had some time off work but I felt like I was working, not resting. And I haven't had time to grive much, or deal with it. Or even have a rest from it. Apart from 5 hours reading a kid's book at the weekend. And now I'm back at work, and it's relentless.
I need a holiday. I need out. I need people like Mimi to go away.
I had lunch with Patrick, a young man from work, he was clearly still shocked, afraid to ask for time off, afraid to ask for help, afraid of being seen as weak. He would only talk to me ( 'because you were there'). He wouldn't even talk to his mum, poor soul. He finally accepted that it was okay to ask for a bit of time off. So that was a good thing.
Still can't sleep myself though, despite paying £55 for a massage. John on way home from work, it's 10.10pm now, will be here by 10.45pm, so no point trying to go to bed.
Managed to finally talk to Ronan, the partner of one of my best friends, Ian. Ian's mother died of cancer a week ago. Ian is round his sister's house; the funeral is tomorrow. We've been texting almost daily, but it's not the same, need to give him a hug. Hard when they are up in Yorkshire. My heart goes out to Ian and Ronan . Sent them a case of wine, because dammit, we all need a drink after this week.
Whilst I have been caught up in this bomb stuff, Ian has been caught up in his own private grief of his mother's dying. One of the things that I am angry about is that this bomb got in the way of us being there for each other when we needed each other.
The wine I am drinking tastes sour. Which feels appropriate.
posted by Rachel at 6:06 am
Thank you for thinking of me Judith. It has been amazing to have such support from friends and strangers. I am not sure that my diary is very cheering or encouraging at the moment, but I hope it helps in a small way for people to know that they are not alone in how they feel.
This affected us all collectively, and that is a blessing as well as a curse.
But I believe that not feeling alone, staying together and looking after each other is our best defence against fear and suspicion. We are a multitude, we are civilised, we are fellow passengers all.