Down and Out in Mijas.....

I waited a little while until I could face this one ;-)

It was ferociously hot today. We asked someone at Plaza Mayor whilst we were out shopping this afternoon, and she told us it was 41 degrees.... We made the most of the day. The parents went grocery shopping first thing, whilst I stayed home and got washed and dressed. I made myself a sort of porridge breakfast on the stove, something called Salvado de Avena. Pretty nice, if a little warm whilst eating it!

I went for a swim, and then we shopped at Plaza Mayor. We drove, and almost suffocated with the hot air blowing at us despite the windows being fully open. 

This evening we were going to a nice restaurant, chosen by my dad. We rarely eat out here anymore, just drinks and snacks, but there was a place he had always wanted to visit, on the mountain road into Mijas. It's called Valparaiso and we've driven past it loads of times over the years. They have 'entertainment' quite often, and it reminded me of the sort of thing of Gramps's generation. He booked a table for tonight as they had a Flamenco show and mum and I used to dance the Sevillianas. (Still have my dress and shoes in my closet somewhere!) 

I was a bit hesitant when I heard it suggested in the weeks before we went away. My dad and I have a more tricky relationship, and it's usually just Mum and I that go on holiday together. I suppose it's because three is always a weird number, and given the events of the last year, it makes me feel much more self-conscious. 

But I was also looking forward to it. Until I got there. Thoughts of T were never far from my mind the whole trip, and it was a case of trying to push them into a box and put it to one side, at least until bedtime when I'm alone. I've had a lot of vivid dreams about him lately.

We drove to the restaurant for 9pm, and my dad thought it was a great place. It was very nice, and the host was a good guy too, very attentive. But as soon as we walked in, there was a guy singing, and it was " I just called to say I love you". And I started to get what A calls "uncomfortable feelings'.

It was never going to go well. Feeling a bit choked even writing about it! We sat down, ordered, and it was still stiflingly hot. The guy stopped singing but it was too late for me. I started feeling horrible, and didn't want to eat. The Flamenco started, and whilst they were amazing, I could feel the tears prick my eyes and had to really try to concentrate and not ruin dinner. 

It was so difficult. The more you feel trapped, the worse you feel. Normally when/if I feel like that, which has become less so over the months, I am able to extricate myself from it, and that helps. But at a sit down dinner, you can't. 

I felt bad, I didn't eat anything, and it was a bit embarrassing not to mention expensive. Once the Flamenco finished, the music continued and people started dancing. My dad wanted to dance with my mum but she wouldn't (although I secretly suspected she would have quite liked to), and my dad did ask me. And I would have. But I was feeling so crap and missing T so much that I ended up crying at the table and asking if we could leave. 

If I had been more secure in myself, and not so bloody sad about what happened, I would have got on that dance floor with my dad and had a lovely night with my parents. They won't be around forever. But instead I felt a bit like the 12-year-old that ruins a family dinner and it made me feel worse. My dad tried to do a nice thing and I felt like I spoiled it. 

When we finally left, my dad put his arm around me and told me I would meet someone, and I said to him I felt like I had fucking PTSD or something, It's been 11 months. 

I cried a lot on the way home. I had a nice bath to cool off, and made a cup of hot water and lemon and slunk off to my little 18 degree AC'd room. Thank God I managed to pick up Nashville Season 1 on DVD to watch with mum. We didn't end up watching it, but even the useless old Mac managed to support a DVD, and losing myself in Juliette Barnes's drama rather than my own helped. 

I am so disappointed in myself. I spoiled a night that should have bee lovely, and even worse, my dad wasn't cross when he probably should have been. When I told A about it later on, she said she felt cross with T, and that it should have been a great opportunity to connect with my dad, and he spoiled it. I should be tougher really, but I can't. 

I slept until 12:30pm the next day. A part of me didn't want to face them both. I'm 32 not 12. Fortunately they didn't bring it up, and I appreciated that. I went for a swim with my dad later, and I did apologise whilst we were in the pool. I also had a chat with my neighbour, German, who I've known since I was little. 

I tried to explain to my dad how I felt, in a way I thought he might understand. His world revolves around money, so the only thing I could think of was to imagine if he had lost a load of money when the markets crashed, and then instead of being able to remove himself from it, somebody was making him watch those numbers going down on a screen. "What?" he said. Well it made sense to me, and to A when I told her ;-)

I'm just so fucking sad! I have periods when I'm ok, things are moving forward, and I'm thankful for what I've got. But other days I just think it's fucking unfair. Cruel even. Why don't I get to have what everybody else has? I loved T, and a part of me probably always will. It's like having a dead weight pulling you down, grief I think they call it. And it's liveable for the most part, a sadness that you carry with you. But sometimes it bubbles up and spills over the surface and into the present. And it can spoil the times that are meant to be happy.

I think that dance floor full of couples just reminded me of how I wanted to be there with him, and that nobody else is going to be able to take his place. 

* Apologies for the bleakness and sweariness of this entry. Sometimes you have to write it all down, just to get it out of your head.