I walk around in the house and the ghosts run around in my head. Crashing into each other. One is me stomping around in the bathroom, masking sure the tiles are all glued to the sub floor, after we had a small flood during the renovation. Another is how I laid the stones for the front walk. Going down the hall, looking at myself in the full length mirror. Whose image will it hold in a short time ?

Every time I pick a berry, be it a Saskatoon, raspberry, currant, or goose berry I think they are the sweetest I’ve ever had. Maybe it is the melancholy, or grief of what has been lost that imbues them with their flavour. What has been lost ? Was it real, or was it an illusion. Just another ghost stumbling around in my brain. It feels real, but what do I know. I feel less substantial each day. I don’t know whether to laugh, grieve, rage or cry. I have been doing a lot of the last three lately.

I sit here with my brain racing ahead of me, catastrophising. I will be on the streets, without a home, or in a tiny apartment.  The future so nebulous, but the great fear is there in all of the scenarios. Alone, alone again. I talk to therapists and they tell me I need this time to get the ghosts in order so I feel comfortable with them, so that I can look and see today. I can reach out and hold my face in my two hands and tell me that I love me, I am proud of me and it is going to be.

Right now though all I know is that I will be stepping out into the dark of change. Please God when I reach out to hold your hand, grab it and tell me that faith is all I need.