This kindness. This level of support. This above-and-beyond-ness. It makes me feel I have to keep going somehow – though I don’t know how. But with all these good people trying their best to help me, how can I kill myself, how can I let them down, how can I put them through that?
CPN came this morning. She kept talking about hospital. I kept saying no. So she took me to the park and bought me a coffee at the little cafe, and we sat a while, and walked, and talked. She said I’m one of the strongest people she’s met. She said that while I’m going through this rough patch she’ll see me twice a week. She suggested lorazepam when I got home, and lorazepam again this evening, followed by zopiclone, and getting into pyjamas and watching something – anything – on Netflix. And the Crisis Team are coming tomorrow and Sunday, and she’s coming back first thing Monday morning, and then again on Thursday –
I still feel awful but a new thought has formed. Because my CPN was talking about the way I moved here, organised it all from hospital, and how when she read that she thought it was amazing, and it made me think that maybe I could move again. I don’t know how I’d face it – I quail at the thought of everything entailed – but I’m not happy here. If I could move to a quieter area, maybe the quality of my daily life would be better, maybe that would make a difference?
It’s something to think about. It’s a hope to hang onto. It’s a possible future plan when this morning I saw none.