“Keep Busy”

That’s something that I’ve been told to do a lot by family and friends.

Why?

Well – it’s easier to tell me to be busy than deal with the epic fall out of a crashing Kip, they know I’m crap sitting and brooding like depressed Batman, lurking away behind a closed door, I need to do stuff.




Being busy is fun, I’ve had more trips to the cinema than I have in years, been able to say ‘Yes’ to more opportunities than ever before, I’ve made new friends and some old friends have come back into my life and been there when I’ve needed them. It all feels great.

It’s not.

Keeping busy is simply that, keeping busy, it’s a distraction, a way to pass the time – varnish on rotting wood – there are moments of total carefree abandon where I feel ‘normal’.

Then, I’m not busy, and it stops.

It’s the same with getting ‘a change of scenery’ – another suggestion I’ve had. I’ve escaped to my Mums, forced myself into London, and of course, gone and sat in Starbucks to get myself away from my four walls. Again though, it’s just a distraction, an escape – I can’t escape forever, I have to come home and face it all, pretend to function, pretend that it’s all okay.

It’s every shade of not okay.

I will spend most evenings lying on my sofa, watching TV, firing messages to friends until I’m so exhausted I fall asleep where I am, usually waking at 4am with a sore neck and then dragging my half asleep ass upstairs to collapse on the bed, I’m asleep immediately. It’s easier this way, ‘going to bed’ results in me not switching off for hours, going through events over and over, obsessed with every single detail, playing things out, regretting words I’ve said, actions I’ve made. My failings and the fall out screaming at me in glorious technicolour. Insomnia is a cruel bastard.

I smile, I laugh, it hides the panic and distress. The bouncier I seem, the more the walls are crumbling, the more I’m ‘out there’, the more I’m climbing into myself – a depressing dichotomy.

I’m at home on my own, trying to find the enthusiasm to do stuff, thinking that a nice cup of tea will start the day well – I reach into the cupboard and pull out two cups, one for me and one for.. Oh.

No one – there’s no one here. Then, it’s a stark reminder of everything that’s happened, where I am and how I got to this point – alone in a house trying to make tea for someone who isn’t here.

No amount of keeping busy or changing the scenery fixes these daft forgetful moments, there only needs to be one cup now.

One Cup – One Kip.

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