For years now (more than a decade, in fact), I’ve lived by the Smile Through It mantra. No matter what happens in life, you can always find one thing each day that makes you smile and hold on to that one thing as a sign that things will get better.

This week, for the first time in a long time, that mantra no longer reigns. For the first time in a long time, I’m not OK.

And this is something I need to share because  in this world of heavily filtered, idealised lives that we all share online it’s too easy for me to pretend everything’s OK and that I’m coping and that I can still smile. I’ve been through mental health battles before, both with my own head and those of several of my loved ones, and it’s hypocritical of me to advocate the need to talk about the difficult times if I’m not prepared to do it myself.

I need to share this because I need people to realise that it’s OK to not be OK sometimes.

Empty chairs at empty tables

On Friday, K and I woke up at 5am to drive to Exeter for Kirstie’s funeral, which was amazing. It was the very definition of a celebration of life and I’ve never had so much fun or laughed so much at a funeral in my life. It was everything Kirstie wanted and it was delivered beautifully.

Twelve hours after leaving the house in the morning, we were back home again, and as I sat on the sofa I realised something that made me crumble: I’m the last one.

More than a decade ago, as I was starting my journey towards transplant, in the days before Facebook, Twitter and other instant-connection platforms that we all now have, there was a band of merry lifers with CF doing what we could to jockey each other’s spirits, connecting on forums, via text message and in some cases living fully-retro and sending stuff to each other in the post. With stamps and everything.

As I sat on the sofa on Friday night, I realised that Kirstie was the last of that group for me. She was my last connection to that world of support, shared experience and shared hopes for the future. Every single one of that group I had stayed in touch with has gone.

In that moment, thinking of the fact that when things get tough in the future — which we all know they will for me some day — I won’t have anyone to turn to who’s been through it, I broke down.

So what happens now?

The next few days passed in a haze of the most intense grief I’ve felt for years. Nothing made me smile, nothing motivated me to get off the sofa, out of bed or out into the world. Things I’d always enjoyed became the last things I wanted to do.

On Monday I went into work and rapidly realised that my mind simply wasn’t there. So I did one of the hardest things I’ve done for a long time: I sat down with my boss and I said, “I’m not coping,” and I left the office (with his blessing) four days early for my Christmas break.

Things are getting better. I can smile again, I can laugh, I can hear all my friends getting angry with me and laughing at me for moping about. But the grief is still present, it’s still pervasive, intrusive, destructive. It comes in waves and I’m just learning to ride those waves.

I can see that things will get better. I know that I will recover, that I’ll feel joy again in the same way I did before. I know I’ll feel the desire to create memories in honour of that amazing group of people, rather than languish in the sadness of what’s been lost.

But right now, I’m not coping and I don’t know how to cope. I don’t know how to regulate the waves of grief, the bouts of sadness or the depths of despair that my brain sinks to at regular intervals.

Bring on tomorrow

What I do know is that everything I’m feeling right now is OK. That it’s OK to not be OK. That it’s important for me to talk about this, to share this, to be open, honest, vulnerable and fragile about it.

Because it’s not OK to hide it. It’s not OK to think I can just bravely plough through it and present my happy face to the world like nothing has happened. Because that helps no one: not me, not other people experiencing the same thing, not my friends and family who will think that everything’s fine.

Because losing this many friends, going to this many funerals, struggling to remember all of them and when they happened and what their faces looked like and sometimes even their names, is not OK. And will never be OK. And shouldn’t be OK.

Despite being shattered from a busy week and a late night with the family last night, K and I were both ridiculously happy to spend lunchtime with our little gang of friends again – it kind of felt like old times, meeting up and hanging out together as a group twice in the space of just over a week.

It’s lovely to know that however long it is until we do it next (which hopefully won’t be as long as the gap up to these two weeks), we’ll still pick up exactly where we left off.

And Steve’s baby will probably still stare at me oddly and occasionally smile.

Thanks for having a birthday, Dave.

Tonight we had a final family meal before waving my bro and his wife and daughter off for their work-related emigration to Europe. It’s sad to see them go, but I’m excited at the exciting new challenges that face them, not to mention how much our niece will benefit from growing up in a different culture and country for the first few years of her life.

I’d love the chance to do something similar, but I know I’m probably a bit too much of a wimp for that. Still, having a nice gathering centred around great food (as all Lewington family gatherings always are!) was a great way to say goodbye and wish them well. Bro and Dad are now traipsing across Europe to get their car over there and then flying back later in the week to pick up the rest of the gang and take them out there. In summer, K and I get to drive out and deliver the new car they have on order, so I’m already grinning ear-to-ear just thinking about it. Summer holiday planned already!

A friend got a transplant call today. Still waiting to see if it goes ahead, but just the possibility of it has me smiling from ear to ear.

It’s odd things that unite or reconvene a posse as you get older. Back in the day (in fact, pretty much a decade ago now, which makes me feel really old) there was a time when K and I lived downstairs from our best friends Steve and Dazz and were frequently visited by Dave and PS; we basically lived out a real-life version of FRIENDS but with tea on the sofa in one of our lounges (often in PJs) rather than coffee in Central Perk.

Obviously, we moved on, upwards and apart – geographically rather than emotionally – and began to see less of each other. 

Today was Steve’s daughter’s first birthday party. She’s one, I mean, not that they’ve been so mean and tight-fisted that she’s never had a birthday before. And it was the first time in as long as I can remember that we had that gang back in the room together. 

When you don’t see friends for a spell, there really is no better feeling than picking up as if no time had passed at all and slipping into the same easy rapport you always had.

I can count on my fingers the people with whom I have this sort of relationship and this gang take up one whole hand. We’ve been through thick and very, very thin together and we’ll always be there for each other however far apart we may be.

Old friends really are the best friends.

For many reasons I can’t go into much detail about today’s smile moments (yes, more than one), but I can say that I walked from work to the station home with a smile on my face the whole way tonight.

A nice work-related smile today as we presented some initial creative concepts for a big piece of work that is rapidly descending on us.

Any creative will know presentation of concepts to a senior leadership team is always slightly nerve-wracking as you face that awkward “what do I do with this if they don’t like it?!” thought process.

Luckily they not only liked it, some of them even mentioned that when they first heard the concept they really didn’t get it and thought it would be a dead end, but seeing the execution and possibilities they got almost excited.

Score one for the creatives today!

It certainly hasn’t been an easy day today, with many different irons in the fire all needing to be tended to and kept red hot, but the sky on the train back into London was its own shade of pastel red with a dusting of cloud cover.

I love a good sunset. Somehow no matter what kind of day you’ve had or how you’re feeling a bright, colourful sunset does wonders to ease the mind, calm the body and make you appreciate the natural wonders our world serves us up with every day.

How was your sunset tonight?

It never lasts long, but following a fit of cleaning, clearing and moving-stuff-around frenzy at the weekend I managed to create myself a fresh, light and new space to work in my study at home.

Flexible working is a wonderful thing, but I do need my own space to shut myself away from everything else and get productive. Every now and then I need to refresh it to clear my desk and my head.

Rather pleased with the result.