“Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and
never stops at all.”—Emily Dickinson
I have been distinctly distant from here for a while. I needed some time to deal with my very real demons, to move away from the house I was living in and to try and piece my life back together.
Over the space of four weeks I spiralled deep down into the pit of despair. I was cutting multiple times per day just to cope and I tried to take my life five times. I was either not committed enough to these attempts or just plain unlucky as I was, obviously, not successful and am still here to tell the tale.
I was not coping at all and made the decision to move back into my parents for a short time. I can’t explain the relief I felt leaving that house knowing I would never go back, I blocked my landlady’s number and email and essentially cut myself off from the situation completely leaving my Husband to take the flak!
I spent almost a month with my parents, just looking after myself, finding the courage to step outside again, and learning to relax after so many months on edge.
Then almost a month ago Hubby and I moved into our new place. It’s close to my parents when I need them, smaller and easier to look after, and away from the evil landlady.
I have made progress with my treatments and am awaiting psychotherapy. I’m feeling hopeful for the future, although very anxious. The problem with getting on the road to recovery is it’s never as quick or as straightforward as we would like!
There is still no news on my bowel condition, surprise surprise! You can’t win ’em all.