Save The Bees.

I slipped off my coat in the waiting room after a sunny morning at the allotment and a honey bee flew right out of it. Could have stung me easily but had just been keeping warm, I guess. He flew straight towards the rickety old lead lined windows and started banging against them frantically. I knew my session was about to start but felt compelled to free my bee, I slipped into the chamber and opened a window grabbed a tissue and began swiping my bee towards freedom. Whilst doing this I heard Janis emerge from her chamber to find the waiting room empty. After a couple more provocotive flaps of the tissue my bee found the window and flew off. I closed the window and quick footed it back to the waiting room.

We talked about slipping back into old habits, labelling things, addictive behaviour, and self-hate. Asking why I hate myself is bringing nothing up so how about: ‘What do you hate about yourself?’

Later in the day as I walked the boys back from school I saw a big fat squashed bumblebee on the pavement, next to him another struggled. I put my finger down for him to crawl on and lifted him to the safety of a nearby garden full of Spring bulbs. Erbie's friend screamed in fear, they only sting if they're scared or about to die I say.

I save bees - I don't hate that about myself.

Image: © http://www.lizzieharper.co.uk

The Heart Shaped Stone.

I wake in Erbie’s platform bed, he is next to me, soft with sleep and cuddling bunny. I turn my back to him and curl up putting my head underneath the pillow. I can hear TheGr downstairs getting ready for work - it's 6am. I lie motionless, silently listening, will he acknowledge my existence when he leaves or just lean across me to kiss Erbie goodbye.

I hear him come into the room, feel the bed rock as steps up, he seems cheerful this morning, kissing Erbie and me.

“There are mouse droppings in the bedroom again, can you hoover up today - would you mind?” he asks in his best, polite, morning voice.

“No, I don‘t mind, of course, I will, no problem.” the words tumble out in random order.

He leaves. The house is quiet. a slither of sunshine blasts through under the black-out blind, it’s just before 7am. I groggily manoeuvre myself down the ladder, my is mouth dry, wisps of last night’s argument flickering through my head. The name calling, the tears, insinuations and accusations all seem so futile in the bright morning light.

I make myself a two egg omelette and a pot of coffee and contemplate the condensation on the window. I feel the knot in my chest, like I’ve swallowed a stone, a heart shaped stone, I smile wryly to myself. It’s back.