Since my seizure I’ve been such a mixed bag of emotions. One day I’m up, the next I’m down. The psychiatrist has upped my anti-depressant meds though I don’t always take them. It feels like cheating. And I feel like I’m losing my mind. My DVLA assessment was cancelled, because of the seizure. I’ll have to wait several more months for that now. Which means I can hardly plan to be back on Force CID any time soon either. I’m devastated. I’m angry. And yet, inside, I know I’m getting better. I really can take care of myself now. My physical responses, my decision-making and all manner of cognitive abilities are flying high in the tests I still endure. My lack of emotion and empathy is still an area requiring more work, but despite everything I feel so much more like me again. Just an unhappier version of me.
If it wasn’t for that damn seizure. If I hadn’t pushed myself so far, so fast…
Life for me and Jason continues to be fraught. He’s been working long hours. On a murder investigation that’s really gotten under his skin. He’s not around much, and when he is around he doesn’t want to talk about it, and I think we both know that he’s not really needed in my home now like he was when I first came out of hospital.
I’ve tried telling him this. I don’t mean it nastily. It’s not that I don’t care for him. I do. And now that my emotions are more rounded I’m immensely grateful to him for sticking by me for so long. But time has moved on. My recovery continues but I want my independence back.
Jason had already come home from work tonight in a foul mood. I knew it wasn’t the best time to broach the subject again, but then when would be a good time? So I did it anyway.
‘So it’s over,’ he says, looking down at the floor. ‘That’s really what you want?’
He sounds calm though I know he’s seething. We’ve just been through two minutes of yelling and this is just a moment’s respite.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I just need space.’
‘After everything I’ve done for you. This is what I get.’
‘I never asked you for anything!’ I shout, feeling the calm dissipating.
‘You always were selfish. Welcome back to earth, Dani Stephens.’
He gets to his feet. I’m immediately riled by his heartless comment, however much I might deserve it. I jump up too.
‘And you’re a mind-numbingly boring arsehole busybody. There’s nothing of worth going on in your life so you’ve infected mine! But I don’t need you here anymore. I don’t want you here! I’ve got my own life to lead, and I can do it without you, thank you very much.’
‘So now I’ve been holding you back all this time. Well fuck you very much. I’m out of here.’
Jason storms out of the lounge. I hear him banging and rummaging in the spare room. I’m in despair. I didn’t want to hurt him, I hadn’t intended that outburst at all – yet another fuck-up caused by my damn TBI. I didn’t want it to end like this. The truth is, I’m in two minds still. I need him in my life. But not like we are. More than anything I just wish we could start over. I don’t want him to be Jason my carer, who watches over me and judges me and thinks I need my nappy changing. I want him to be my boyfriend. A lover. But I don’t know how to explain that, or how we could ever recover that even if I could – real, natural affection has been absent from our relationship for so long.
Moments later he stands in the lounge doorway, a filled holdall over his shoulder. He glares at me and I just stand there and wait for him to say something. Anything. Will it be anger, regret or sorrow that he comes at me with? Will he plead to stay?
In the end he says nothing.
‘Just go!’ I shout, when the silence becomes unbearable.
He only hesitates for a second before he turns to leave.