Dbee Robinson Artist - The Fat Struggling Menopausal Artist

  Today was unbearable.  I forced myself out for lunch today just to get out of the house, as I could quite easily never leave and hide away forever. But I know that would not be good for me at all. Stupidly, I went to a place we liked and just sat there crying in the corner booth, hidden away from prying eyes, eventually having to leave.  The last time I did this, I was in the bank and saw an elderly couple sitting holding hands while they waited to see a clerk. My heart broke, and I had to leave. So I wonder if hiding away and not leaving the house is a better choice after all. dbee x

  I am not sure how I will ever bear this weight around my heart. It's so heavy I may drown in my dark and deep sorrow. The fear another has cruelly created in me is magnifying my grief until it's all I can see, all I can feel, all that I know. A dark, crushing burden expanding day by day until I am lost in its mass of dread and horror. I am remembering a little more each day he has gone, and I am thrust back into oblivion. The more I try to push the pain away, the more I know I must let in the knowledge he has left me.  But it's too soon to let him go, I want to hold on to the thought he is still here, that he will hold me one more time, that I will wake up holding hands as we used to, that we will dance in our front room while he sings softly to me and that I will hear him laugh so outrageously at one of his favourite movies. But I know deep down these little acts of love are gone forever, as are all the things we used to do or say. I will never hear his last words to me ...

Love this photo, not just because we are dressed up, and David always looks good in his Tux, but it's his cheeky grin.  I haven’t written here for a long time. Life has been busy, and if I’m honest, I haven’t had anything much to say. I still don’t have many words — but my heart wants to scream. The beginning of 2026 has been unbearably hard. My David is unwell and, even as I write this, he is fading before my eyes. There is nothing I can do to stop it. We are waiting for a scan to confirm a diagnosis, caught in a queue like so many others, and it is breaking my heart to watch my husband decline while we wait for an appointment that may confirm what we already fear. But without it, we cannot move forward. I try to stay positive, to be strong, but inside I am quietly crumbling as I watch the man I love wither away. Still, we hold on to hope — that this is something treatable, that there is a way forward, and that one day we might have our life back again. Love and Light all...