Baby.

I wrote and created a song, some months after my girlfriend died to help as a coping mechanism.

The song is called Baby and is track 10 on the music page.

Some years ago, my wife's sister introduced me to her new girlfriend. And at first sight I felt her girlfriend was an interloper.

My wife and her sister and I have a tight family, we live together, and I didn't want anyone else involved in our lives together.

It may sound selfish but I was comfortable. I was happy, I felt secure, and I wasn't in the mood for strange women to be easing themselves into my life by way of my wife's sister.

I didn't take to the sister's girlfriend at first at all. I simply flat out refused to entertain her, I didn't want her in my life.

The weeks passed. The girlfriend spent time at my house developing her relationship with my wife's sister. I kept my distance.

One Sunday morning, I was thinking about a million other things, and my wife's sister's girlfriend came down the stairs. She'd practically been living with us for six or so weeks by then, and she came down the stairs and gave me a look, and all I can say is, she broke my heart. In two. Right there. Right then.

Her eyes.

She stared straight into me.

And I couldn't help but stare into her.

And that was the first time I ever truly saw her. And she was beautiful.

And I fell in love at that moment with her.

I became a child. Helpless. Needful. My heart. I felt like I wanted to envelop her in my love and protect her. I needed her. I loved her. Right then. In a single moment. I became a different person around her. She utterly ripped the skin off everything I had inside my mind to not become emotionally attached to her. And there, then, we began to be connected emotionally. She and I were not the same people we were a few seconds before. We were the people we had become at that moment. And at that moment, and forevermore, we loved each other. No build up, no chatting, no small talk, no getting to know each other, we simply loved each other. It took nothing more than a couple of moments of connection. And moving forward from there, we both accepted it. It didn't need words. It didn't need anything. It simply needed to be.

I became a child around her. I was besotted with her. I pandered to her needs. I did every single thing I could do to look after her. Nothing was too much trouble, because I held a horrible pain in my heart for her, and I became afraid of hurting her in any way, no matter how small. I needed her to be happy. I needed her to feel loved. I needed her to know she was wanted, and I needed her to know she was welcome.

How did my wife's sister feel about me falling for her girlfriend?

I sleep with my wife's sister too. It's in my other blogs. It's no secret if you read them.

My wife's sister's girlfriend. She had a peculiar name, so while the sisters and our friends would use her name despite it being a bit of a tongue twister, I simply fell into calling her Baby. It felt natural, it was comfortable and it stuck. And for all of her life, I never called her anything else.

She was my Baby.

My wife loved Baby deeply. Her sister loved Baby deeply. But I loved her more.

And Baby and I fell into a deep untouchable relationship both with my wife and her sister and apart from them.

I could hang out with Baby in a way I could never with my wife and her sister. The sisters are the adults of our household. I'm not. I'm a child within our family. I usually get told what to do and when to do it. The sisters arrange meal times and what we are eating.

They arrange pretty much everything. I just usually keep quiet and go along with their plans and when we go shopping, I'm just the trolley pusher, they choose the food, I just unpack it, and that hierarchy is saturated throughout our life together. They even choose when the TV goes on and what we watch. I just go along with things.

Getting back to Baby, she was my buddy, we got to hang out, we'd scoot off upstairs often and climb into bed together with a pair of laptops, or books, and just hang out. It was the best of times. To have her next to me, the way she made me feel, just her near me, it made me feel something that I felt was perfect.

It wasn't what we did together, it was the way we both made each other feel and we became inseparable. We were the best of friends as well as lovers. In a sense, she became my world. She'd follow me in a way my wife never would. My wife is a lot stronger than me emotionally, and it affects and sets my relationship with her.

Yet with Baby, she saw me as a strong person who would, and did, look after her. I did, look after her.

She was beautiful and I mean that. Everyone says their spouse, girlfriend etc, is beautiful, but Baby was truly beautiful. You could put her in a room full of women, and she would stand out.

She was the kind of girl that could break your heart just by widening her eyes a little and focusing on yours. Baby, she was deeply special to me, and it's crap that's how I describe her — 'deeply special'—but if I started writing about her, I wouldn't stop for six hours. So Baby, you were, and always will be, deeply special.

And we all lived. We lived. Lived for years. Together. And time passed. And it went too quickly. It went the way when you're having a great time, and suddenly it's over, and you can't believe the time has gone so fast.

We all lived together. Until Baby died. Why? How?

It's not for this blog.

Baby died in the autumn of 2025.

My wife's sister, my wife, coped a lot better than I did.

Baby's death was as painful as I imagined it would be. And me being a morbid type, I always imagined her death and how it would feel while she was still alive. I used to lie next to her in bed knowing she would one day be gone, knowing I couldn't stop it, and knowing that space in the bed one day would never be filled with her again.

And when she died, in the weeks and months afterward, when I lay in that bed and looked at the space where she was once alive, it felt the way I thought it would.

I expected oceans of overwhelming pain when Baby died, and it came as I knew it would, and I said to the pain, just drown me, you've done it before, come and drown me, and it cascaded over me and I was still able to breathe because how wet can you get when you've spent a lifetime living in that ocean. But Baby's death hit another part of me that I wasn't expecting. My mind. I lost my mind after her death. And I wasn't expecting that. And that broke me. Not my pain. My longing for her to come back. That caused me to loose my mind in a way I never had before.

It's not that I gave up on life. I have my wife, her sister, our friends, our family, but anyone who has known grief will know that nobody else can console you when a loved one dies. All you want is that person back, and no one else matters. You can't fit a different person in that space in your life where your dead loved one once was and once lived. And that space just remains empty.

In my case, that empty space started to fill with a lack of inhibition. That's how it felt and that's how it still feels, not to the intensity it was a few months back, but I'm not the same since Baby's death.

I'm not heartbroken. That's too soft a term. Numb stinging grief. That's how it feels.

I'm never going to get over Baby's death. It's been months, my heart burns for her. I miss her. Fucking in tears. Baby steps. Baby ... steps.

We all have our crutches. Booze, drugs, cigarettes, gambling, we all have them. I have mine.

Drinking blood has always taken my pain away, instantly, and I mean instantly. It's like my brain hasn't the capacity for anything else when I'm focused on blood. There's just no room for anything else. And even more, I make myself feel good. I can go from the depths of despair to utter elation in moments when I drink. And I've used that as a tool in my past to phase my brain out of whatever emotional pain I was in by sinking into blood. - all consensual adult activities — even just writing about it helps. It gives me a little bump just thinking about it. My heart has sped up typing this. My grief has lessened.

I hate letting God down. I know drinking blood is a sin.

Do I really think I'm going to heaven at the end of all this? How many feeds is one feed too many? When does God pull up that drawbridge?

I'm tired of the light. Because Baby is no longer in it. Sadly, she isn't in the dark either. She is in the ground.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JH_gsQtLQtg