I’ve done sod all today except lie curled in a ball on the floor and spend some time on Twitter. Too much going on inside.
My CPN came yesterday and we had the inevitable conversation about medication. Her words keep echoing in my head: You *will* have a relapse. You *will* become paranoid. The voices *will* get louder. Your mood *will* dip.
I sent those letters to my psychologist. Various reactions to that. The inevitable waves of fear and shame. Flashes of lightness and relief. Someone is convinced she’ll write back, which concerns me, because what happens when she doesn’t?
But then maybe it doesn’t matter, because I’m thinking of ditching her anyway. I just don’t think she can give me what I need. I’m really struggling with only seeing her every fortnight, and with the fear of being discharged before I’m ready.
So I’ve been looking at potential alternatives. There’s a bewildering array of choice, but I’ve identified a few possibilities. The next step is to set up some initial consultations.
I’m aware that the urge to do this isn’t entirely healthy – it has the quality of a compulsion – but thinking about it is the one thing that’s bringing me a little comfort at the moment.