Broken

For James’ birthday, I bought him some solid gold, anchor cufflinks. He told me about the analogy Peter used while he was in hospital and it resonates with me to this day. I’m proud to be his anchor, grateful he trusts me enough to let me support him. When he opened the gift, I told him to look at them whenever he feels like he’s drifting away from me and believe. Believe in me. Believe in us.

It was the first birthday in a long time that he didn’t spend alone and we celebrated by staying in, being naked, and simply enjoying each other. He’ll never be alone again.

“You better,” I reply to Isobel. “He’s not been fed today. But first, how does a chicken nugget Happy Meal sound?”

“Yeah!” she shouts, her smile beaming. “Is Tess coming too?”

Tess joins us for tea sometimes on the occasions Lucy is working the late-shift in her new job at a call centre. When she’s not working, they’d rather be on Canal Street than watching Ben and Holly’s Little Kingdom. Maybe I’m ageing prematurely, but after a day dealing with twatwaffles like Mike, I’d much rather chill out on the sofa playing Who Can Fit the Biggest Scoop of Ice Cream in Their Mouth, than getting wasted.

“Sorry, darlin’ she’s out with Lucy tonight.”

Isobel pouts, but quickly forgets about it. “When I’m olderer I want purple hair like Tess.”

“You do, eh?” I take one of her hands, James takes the other, and we swing her up and down on the way to the car. “And an earring in my tongue like her, too.”

Max and Laura must curse me daily for bringing Tess into Isobel’s life, especially when she got home last week and said some kid in her class was an arsewipe.

Stopping in his tracks, James drops Isobel’s hand. “Race you to the car?”

Isobel takes off without replying and James swiftly overtakes her before slowing down and letting her win. “Ah, you beat me!”

He’s so happy, right now. We’re so happy. Every moment like this is precious. There are times when he falls, moments when he relapses and gives into the darkness that’s tormented him all his life. But it’s okay, because I’m here. I’ve learned to recognise his silent cries for help and I offer my hand, guide him back. I know when he’s sitting in the dark of an evening, with no light or music, that he’s feeling numb. I know when he lets dishes pile up in the sink rather than putting them in the dishwasher that he’s tired, mentally and physically. I know that when he refuses to look into my eyes when he tells me he’s fine that he’s not fine. They’re such little things, things he doesn’t even realise he’s doing. Things that nobody else would notice because to another person such habits are their norm…but I notice because I know him. They’re just a few of the ‘unique to James’ signs and symptoms Tom told me I would learn to recognise, and he was right.

When you’re living with mental illness, there is no happily ever after, like the kind we write about every day. Instead, we look forward to future days spent basking in the most dazzling light, followed by ones drowning in the deepest depths of darkness. There is only one constant, one guarantee, no matter which day we face.

Love.

A love so powerful it will carry us through. We will survive. Together. And when we’re old and grey and the time comes for me to leave this world, I will do so knowing I was the luckiest man ever to live, for I got to call James Holden mine. An extraordinary man who showed me joy, sadness, and the greatest strength.

I will love him beyond forever.

The End.