Aftermath of the funeral
27th July 2005, 9:17 am

The current period of insomnia is making going to work very difficult and tiring, and I wish it'd just DIE DIE DIE. Also, due to my watching Beauty and the Beast a lot, to try and induce relaxation, I now have this bizarre quote running through my head constantly:

Belle: What do you know about my dreams, Gaston?
Gaston: Plenty!

Not amusing in the slightest written down, and imagine how even less amusing it is having it running round your head all day long.

So, yesterday was intense to say the least. I'm torn here - on the one hand I want to write this in the usual dry, slightly cynical way that I write all of my entries, because that's my natural defence mechanism and it's a hell of a lot easier. On the other hand, I want to write it emotionally, to let the world know just exactly how it was. I'm not sure yet which way will win.

I got the train down to Notts about tenish, after another insomnia-plagued night. I had time to kill, and was hungry, so I bought a jacket potato from one of the green vans near Clumber St and ate it sitting in Market Square in front of the council house. I forgot to pick up a fork though, so had to eat the damn thing with nothing less than my HMV student discount swipecard (I'm sorry I keep banging on about bloody swipecards). It was reasonably effective, though I got cheese all over the magnetic strip and it probably won't work now. The guy sitting across the way from me noticed, and after laughing beckoned to me, saying that he'd give me a fork. I didn't move though, because I figured he either:

a) didn't have a fork, and would simply try and chat me up
b) did have a fork, but upon giving it to me would then try and chat me up
c) was using the word "fork" as a euphemism for something else entirely.

Speaking of which, I must've looked really tasty in my funeral outfit or something, because the amount of blokes that either gave me lingering stares or tried to chat me up when I purchased various items was unreal. I felt like shouting, "Hey, come on! I'm going to a funeral, for Christ's sake!" but I refrained. I don't know, maybe it was just because I was wearing heels for once.

Finally got to Hucknall and met Standard outside the church. I vaguely recognised some of the people standing around as people from Mark's year at school. Went inside and waited for a while, before the vicar told us all to stand.

The coffin came in and was laid at the front, and I suddenly had a flashback to Bernie's coffin being brought in, and of me sitting there looking at it, dressed in exactly the same clothes that I was wearing then. Lindz walked in with Michelle, Mark's girlfriend, looking pretty awful, but it didn't compare to Linda, who was behind her. She was crying like it was too painful to even breathe, and had to be supported on both sides by members of her family. It was one of the worst things that I've ever had to witness, and I suddenly felt like I shouldn't be there; that it was just too private, that I was intruding.

The service itself was good, I think. When we were invited to think about our memories of Mark, the one that stuck in my mind was New Year's Day, when I was 15. I'd been out the previous night with Lindz, Linda and Len in Hucknall, before going on to a party, and had woken up with the hangover from hell. I remember sitting in Lindz's living room, pasty and in pain, while Mark simultaneously teased me and offered hangover cures (none of which worked, as I was promptly sick), before giving me a huge hug and wishing me a happy new year.

Standard got pretty upset, especially when Lindz read out a poem. I felt it too, but I couldn't break my cardinal rule of not crying in public. I really don't like the way I deal with things, but I can't seem to do anything about it - I keep such a rigid grip on my emotions that I never let myself lose control, no matter what situation. Sitting there in chuch, listening to the vicar talking about Mark's life, I really did want to just let go and cry. Instead I found myself gritting my teeth, looking over and Lindz and Linda and thinking, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" over and over in my head.

It was over sooner than I expected. As Lindz walked past she noticed me and smiled, and I mouthed "I love you" to her. She went straight into the car, holding Linda up, but I managed to wave goodbye to both of them through the window as I walked down to the bus stop. I didn't go to the cremotorium; I didn't really have any way of getting there. Instead I ran away to Lisa's for a while, before going back to Sheffield.

I don't really know what else to say about it all, other than it was so incredibly sad. I don't think I have the words to properly describe how it was. The one good thing, I guess, and from a selfish point of view, is that I managed the funeral without anxiety, and without too much reminding me of Bernie and my mum. It doesn't matter though, it's not important in the grand scheme of things.

The one last thing I will say is that I always forget just how badly death affects people - how much it affected me - and how it screws your entire life up into an unrecognisable shape that you then have to try and smooth out. I'm so worried about Lindz and Linda.

I'll leave it here, as my natural defences are trying to make me now write another entry on top of this that is full of observations and attempted humour, and I don't think that I should, tempting as it is. Oh hang on, firstly: Zoe, your new comment for me made me all happy for at least five minutes, so thankyou times lots.

Sidenote: Briefly returning to the normality of today, let's get one thing straight. I do not want to have to keep talking to all the random people who wait around with me for the lifts of death to arrive. This is because you can guarantee to have a conversation that starts with either "I hate these lifts...", "Isn't the weather nice/bad/indifferent today?" or "Isn't today going quickly/slowly/indifferently?" For the love of god, shut up! Can't we just wait in silence, gazing intently at the coloured arrows that tell us when a lift is coming, and which way it's going? The speed lift is also broken down today, which means that I have to get a lift of death every single sodding time. I swear those things will give me a complex.

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