Tick Tock

 Sensitive content regarding mental health, grief, and suicide.

Dear Diary,

I was twelve years old when I last kept a diary. It had a green spine, a flowery cover, and a little lock and key. I found that diary last year, up in the attic. It was in a bag, in a box along with some other remnants of my childhood, including the “Fabulous Five,” also known as my bedtime buddies: Big Teddy, Little Teddy, Black Kitty, Dainty Dolly, and Puffy Penguin. For most of my childhood, they shared my bed. My favourite, Puffy Penguin, had the pillow spot so that he could “breathe better.” The others were pushed down the side of the bed, next to the wall, tucked in tight so they could not fall out. With these friends by my side, I fell asleep every night listening to the sounds of traffic on the busy street outside and the tick tock of the grandfather clock in the hall. I loved it when it rained; the sounds of the wet tires on the pavement combined with the pitter patter on my window gently lulled me to sleep. Speaking of sleep, Dear Diary, it is time for bed. 

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Dear Diary,

Last night sleep evaded me. I tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. I was thinking about my childhood toys and that diary from long ago. When I found that box in the attic of this house, my childhood home, I was both comforted and saddened. The plush toys were victims of time and riddled with holes from moths. In fact, Big Teddy had just half a face, and Little Teddy was almost disemboweled. Black Kitty had holes in her legs and could stand on her feet no more. Dainty Dolly was missing some eyelashes and could no longer “cry.” Poor Puffy Penguin, already quite tattered from our adventures together, was even more threadbare than before.

They were a shocking sight, considering how loved they once were, not just at night but also in the day when they were my playmates. In my games of make believe, they were my fellow astronauts, my students at school, my secret club, and for Dainty Dolly, my once upon a time baby - the only baby that I would ever have, a lifetime ago!

In such a state of deterioration, the “Fabulous Five” were destined for the dump. But I have not had the time to take them. Well, that’s not true. It’s more like I have not had the heart to do so. It would be such a final abandonment to throw out my childhood companions. 

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Dear Diary,

I had an amazing childhood. We did not have a lot of money, but I did not want for anything. Well, I would have loved a sibling just like my friends had. I think my parents might have hoped for that too, but it never happened. 

I was lucky to have several friends living nearby and, so, I enjoyed many adventures with children my age in the neighbourhood. After leaving school, I kept in touch with some people for a few years but, as time passed, being busy won over being in touch, especially as my friends settled into family life one by one: husbands and babies and jobs and school committees and so on and so on. I, too, got married and had my job, but the babies never came! And gradually, I lost touch with my friends.

Years later, thanks to social media, I was able to rekindle some friendships from afar with people spread out across the country. And here I am, in the middle of the country, in the very town where I grew up. Now, in the very house in which I was raised. But I do not regret staying here. I have enjoyed the opportunity to help establish and run a local cat café, selling books and coffee, as well as caring for cats. More importantly, I remained near my parents when it mattered most. I helped Mum help Dad through his illness all those years ago. And after that, Mum and I had our regular routines: Wednesday walks, Friday fish and chips, Saturday shopping, and Sunday suppers.

It used to be me and Frank. Oh, Frank, who I loved so dearly. We had a happy marriage, until he lost his life in that terrible car crash five years ago!

For many years Frank and I enjoyed weekly family dinners and outings with Mum and Dad, before Dad became housebound. Frank was also an only child, and his parents were no longer alive when we met. So, it was always just the four of us for dinner. We would sit outside in the garden on sunny days, but mostly we ate inside in the kitchen, running outside to bring in the washing when the sky threatened rain.

Now, looking outside, I see the sky is gloomy again and I need to gather my washing off the line. Some things never change!

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Dear Diary,

The items in that box that I found could have done with a wash. But they weren’t exactly washable. I dusted them off and brought them down to my office which used to be my playroom. It seemed like a good home for the “Fabulous Five.”

As for my diary, with its flowers and broken lock, I have read it from cover to cover. It is a passageway to the past. I relived those days when I would ride my bike to the library or explore the forbidden footpaths along the canal with my friends. I wrote about my adventures and my favourites and my many firsts, including my first crushes. I loved a certain rockstar so badly it hurt, and at school, I loved SL for several weeks and AW for several months. I had exciting secrets that even my best friend, Sally, did not know.

Last year, I pored over those pages in my diary, reliving those preteen moments. But last year was a long time ago in my life. Now, that diary with its secrets from a year in my past, sits on a bookshelf in my office amongst my other beloved books. I have always loved to read. Reading takes me away to faraway lands where magic meets with mystery, and adventures abound in every book.

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Dear Diary,

You are nothing like the diary of my youth. You have neither a spine nor a flowery cover! You are but loose-leaf pages, held together in a plain binder. But I like you too. I like how you can listen and be my sounding board. I am no longer recording my hopes and dreams of a future that stretches before me like I did when I was twelve. I am no longer creating the memorable moments that highlighted a preteen life as I encountered so many firsts. Instead, I am ambling down memory lane while guarding my secret closely, a secret that will destroy me. And you, in your open manner, serve this purpose well. There are no boxes on the pages or dates to confine my thoughts. I can write one page or two, or five or ten on any given day. Or none. The only constraints are time and energy. And my secret. I know you are waiting, ready, Dear Diary, but I am not. I cannot reveal it quite yet. I am still dwelling on comforts from the past, not able to face the future full on.

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Dear Diary,

I am still not sleeping well. Today my doctor prescribed me some pills to help. I will save them for when it’s bad, for those nights when I am tossing and turning with racing thoughts and aching limbs. This house is a lonely place in the middle of the night, with only the tick tock of the grandfather clock, and the sounds of the outside world passing by.

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Dear Diary,

Way back, in the past, this used to be my grandfather’s house. My parents and I came to live with him when I was a baby, and eventually they inherited the place. I moved out and moved away, and then came back. Frank and I bought an apartment nearby after we got married. But last year, after Mum died, I decided to sell my place and move back into this house. 

At the time, just over a year ago, this move made sense. I needed to sort out Mum’s possessions and with the money from my place, I was hoping to do some renovations around here and rent rooms to students. And now? This house! It’s more than I need. I am no longer planning to renovate or take in tenants. But I shall stay for the time being. I find comfort in the memories contained within these walls. I can benefit from the stairlift that was installed years ago. Thank goodness for that stairlift; when I am too tired to climb, it will carry me up instead. It’s not the same as when I was a sleepy toddler carried upstairs in my Daddy’s arms, but it feels good to know it’s here.

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Dear Diary

I have a secret, and I am coming closer to writing it down. I don’t like secrets, never have. But this secret is insidious. Keeping it is killing me. It is killing me! I can only keep it for so long, but it will keep me forever!

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Dear Diary,

Such a short and angry entry last time. I stabbed the page with my pen to write those words. I feel a bit better now. Mostly because I have a plan. It is also a secret. That’s the thing about secrets - they lead to more. They multiply. To know and to keep a secret can be so hard, torturous on both my mind and my body in this case.

I’ve had a long time to think about this secret, and how my body has betrayed me. My body kept this secret, before I ever had any idea. After Dad died, I wondered what might awaken in me. I could have gone for tests, but I did not want to know. But when it reared its ugliness last year, I knew. I was so angry when I first heard the words. But my anger is no longer bubbling over like a boiling pot filled too full. No, my anger is simmering on a back burner. And for a while, sadness has overwhelmed me too. Self pity. The kind where I feel so sorry for myself that I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to write or read. Those things take too much effort. But I do like to sit outside and drink my tea, breathe in the fresh air, and listen to nature. There is peace in nature, even though some things scream in silence. 

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Dear Diary,

I have not written for a while. It’s not that I lacked the ideas or the time. I just simply don’t have much energy, and I am using the energy that I do have to take care of some things. I have taken a leave from work. I shall miss that place, the bookstore, where I have enjoyed the friendly staff, the welcoming books, and the adorable cats. But they will be well taken care of when all is settled. I think people at work may suspect that I have a secret. But I won’t confess to them. They don’t deserve that. Nobody does. Just like I don’t deserve this. 

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Dear Diary,

Did you think I was gone? Did I abandon you; it’s been so long? No. I am in the land of the living. I have been living. I have emptied most of the house, donated and sold off many possessions. The contents of my kitchen and my bedroom remain, as does the grandfather clock. With my office dismantled, I have moved the “Fabulous Five” to my bedroom now. They sit in a basket on a shelf along with my old diary. The rest of my books are gone; I can no longer enjoy them in the ways that I used to. I am determined to tie up my loose ends. And I have been doing that while I can. 

I have been living life to the fullest. Well, the fullest that I can. I know that I will not be able to return to work and, as such, I am taking early retirement. Upon receiving this news, the staff held an amazing retirement party for me last weekend. I was even able to dance to a few of my favourite songs. There’s nothing quite like the music of the eighties. 

In the spirit of living, I have booked a cruise with my best friend from school, Sally, who lives up north. My bags are packed and I’m ready to go. No walking shore excursions for me, though! It’s just Sally and me. No room for you, Dear Diary! But I shall pack the pills to help me sleep, so that I can enjoy my days. 

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Dear Diary,

I have returned, tired but happy. The pills helped, but I have not used them all. I will need them later. As amazing as it was to be on holiday with Sally, I am glad to be back here, in the comfort of my own home.

But I am packing again. This time for good. I don’t want to leave it all for others to deal with. I won’t abandon you, Dear Diary. You shall go before me into the flames, along with my old diary. When I was little, Dad used to have a bonfire in the back corner of the garden. That will be your final resting spot. I hope that the smoke and the ashes will set you free from the burden of my secrets. I hope I will be set free too. And the “Fabulous Five,”? If my final wishes are granted, they will follow you into the fire at a slightly later date. It’s where they belong, here on this property. But I have a plan for them first.

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Dear Diary,

I must take control. Time is ticking, tick, tock. If I am to accept my fate, I must share my secrets with you. I must act. I do not have children and that is a blessing right now. The secret dies with me. And I will die. Soon. This cruel disease took my dearest Dad and left my Mum mourning for her remaining fifteen years. Dad would be heartbroken to know that he had passed on to me such an atrocity. But I cherish his true legacies: the memories, his love, his lessons. He always told me to use my head and take care of things before something small might turn into something big or, worse yet, a runaway train and a wreckage.

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Dear Diary,

I have always taken Dad’s advice to prevent the train wrecks in life. I saw what this disease did to him, to his body. He was trapped in a failing shell of his former self. He needed so much care, and that upset him, being such a proud and independent man his entire life. 

I am the engineer of my train. I have the tools to stop this before the disease ravages me. Well, I can’t stop the train, the doctors have told me that. But I can stop it from torturing me completely before it takes my final breath. 

I can choose how this story ends. I will choose the end. I will choose the time. Just before bed on that final night, I will send a few emails and leave an envelope on the mantel, where we used to hang the stockings. You will be gone by then.

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Dear Diary,

Time is omnipresent. It is tied to all our memories. It is a gift, and it is a curse. Look at how time destroyed the “Fabulous Five.” Look at how time hid my secret. Look at how time is unraveling my life. Look at me, so weak, and them, so tattered. But, I guess, as the saying goes, they had their season in the sun, and so did I. Loved and full of love.

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Dear Diary,

My second secret is a plan that will take care of my first secret, the secret that my body hid from me, the secret in my genes: this disease with no cure. Sometime soon, my secrets will be no more. I will be no more. It is strange to contemplate such a time. But it comes for all. I will see this through. 

I have battled with this disease. I have battled with my body. And I have battled with my conscience. But there will come a time when I must lay down and surrender. That time is not yet, but it is soon, Dear Diary.

Before my body fails me, before I lose my speech, before my legs won’t hold me, before my eyes lose their tears, and before I am too tattered, I shall share my bed once more with my beloved “Fabulous Five.” My childhood favourite, Puffy Penguin, will be wrapped in my arms on the pillow spot so that he can “breathe better.” The others will be pushed down the side of the bed, next to the wall, tucked in tight so they cannot fall out. With my bedtime buddies by my side, I will fall asleep listening to the sounds of traffic on the busy street outside and the tick tock of the grandfather clock in the hall. I will choose the perfect night when it is raining; the sounds of the wet tires on the pavement combined with the pitter patter on my window will gently lull me to sleep. Forever.

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