Thursday 2nd november

Thursday 2 November


I awoke,, after around an hours fractured sleep, beset by disturbing dreams

- Dh was off today - cos of his long long days as a GP, he has a day off mid-week, on Thursdays, to regulate his hours - Dh is such a sweetheart, and took the kids to school, and pre-school accordingly..

Chest is definitely improving - still a little wheezy, but no acute attacks etc…

I felt a little low, and somewhat ‘frozen’ - what the fuck was going on?

I felt sooo good yesterday, and now I felt uneasy, unnerved, and somewhat immobile - I went to make myself cheese on toast - when retrieving the cheese from the fridge (‘too warm’!) things boiled over, and I gave the fridge a furious solid hate-filled kicking, in frustration and dismay- I HATE this fucking fridge - it seemed to symbolise my life in some ways - too warm, always off kilter, and out of synch.

I reached for the steroids (have to be taken early morning to mimic the natural cortisone response) but 6 is a lot to swallow…. Why can’t they manufacture prednisolone tablets in higher doses for Gods sake!!


I ruminated on this for a while - giving the fridge another swift kicking…..

Dh came home from the school run- he tossed the newspaper in my direction, and I caught it - great! I love the newspaper!!

Dh (after last night) was much relieved to see me avidly scanning the paper - some sort of testament to a new and improved concentration, instead of my paint-wielding ‘fly‘ like appearance, chuntering away, and glued to the walls.

I love ‘The Guardian’ and always start with the G2 bit - yet to my frustration, I quickly realised that ‘scanning’ it, was indeed the operative word - words and lines jumped out at me - yet I couldn’t follow the text.

Words caught my attention, yet on perusing the text, it all became a meaningless jumble - I was startled and disconcerted - I shook my head in bewilderment, blinked repeatedly, and tried again harder - surely if I could just focus and concentrate on the text, it would all start to come together?

I felt my sense of self unravel, as it became clear it wasn’t going to happen - my mind was skipping from word to word, like a frisky lamb in springtime - none of it made any kind of sense - the harder I tried to take it on board, the more confused I became - I felt panicky - yeah! I had woken that morning feeling low, subdued, and giving the fridge a well-deserved beating - but not being able to distract myself with the paper, was a foreign, and unnerving experience - I flung it on the floor with frustration, gave the fridge another kick, and went to have a lie down.

I stared at the ceiling, feeling cut adrift, and somehow alone..

I went to see my psychotherapist that afternoon - due to moving house, I hadn’t seen her for a week or two..

Settled onto the couch, still wheezing slightly, I began to unload the litany of woes familiar to all those moving house with small children - and then I got stuck.

It felt like a boulder on my chest. I wanted to talk about how things ‘weren’t right’ - my panic, the sullen fridge, the neighbours , my inability to read etc

Luckily, she is quite perceptive, and gave me space, and the right kind of space, to allow me to begin to explore it.. which I did. I started to cry, as I was so frightened… God was I frightened - it felt like being in a foreign land, where I couldn’t begin to understand and communicate..
In turn, she was quite concerned - we had this agreement going - many psychotherapists don’t take on psychotics or ex-psychotics, for various reasons, but we had a deal, that if she thought I was going psychotic, she would intervene on my behalf..

We talked about me accessing mental health services

On one hand, I knew things ‘weren’t right’ I was very scared - but equally, what the fuck was I going to tell mental health? I didn’t want to end up back on anti-psychotics either - I just didn’t want to do the whole field trip again, for something I couldn’t even begin to explain adequately - not even to myself , let alone a series of well meaning others.

I was also ‘off the books’ as far as the mental health team was concerned (and quite rightly - have been well for two years) even accessing mental health would prove problematic
- from past experience, I knew I would have to go via GP receptionist, GP, duty worker, own consultant etc etc. the thought of having to tell them what was going on, when I was clueless but distressed myself, made me shiver.

Unfortunately, accessing mental health services, can be an ordeal, that would tax the ‘mentally well’, and perhaps propel THEM into breakdown mode…..

My psychotherapist offered to do it on my behalf - I refused - “yes I’m frightened, my neighbours don’t like me, the fridge is being deliberately obtuse, and I can’t stop painting - What the FUCK!!”

No thanks…

I came home - I felt somewhat better for ‘offloading’ but as I arrived home, I felt what was to become the familiar ‘prednisolone surge’ - a feeling, some 6 hours after taking it - of mind sharpening, mood enhancing agitation, that escalated me into hyperactivity… I went to kick the fridge…..

Dh was quite concerned as to how the visit had gone -I remarked vaguely, that the psychotherapist was quite keen for me to seek help from the mental health team - but that I wasn’t - or rather, that I would ‘wait and see’ - I SO didn’t want to have to go back there - I really didn’t!

Had it been a case of ringing one number, of the consultant that I trust (Dr Burnett), and pitching up, I would have done.. But my experience of mental health so far, is that of a series of hurdles jumps, meetings with well-meaning but fundamentally clueless, health professionals - I mean - for Fucks sake - the thing that you need at a time like this, is ONE person who knows you ( am not consistently ill enough to need a key worker) yet you end up having to be distressed and incoherent in front of countless others too!

Dh hummed and hawed, and agreed to see how things went - he believes it is due to the steroids, and I only have a five day course - I agree - I don’t want to have to access mental health, when chances are, I will be fine by Monday!! And, of course, it will all go in my notes, making subsequent employment much more difficult….

So I went to paint - and paint- and paint….

Children came home from school/pre-school - I broke off long enough (I was waiting for polyfilla to dry) to make tea, exhort ds1 to do homework, play endless games of ‘animal snap’ with ds2 - I was flying - the children unfortunately weren’t moving quite ‘fast enough’ for me, so I encouraged, cajoled, and raved them on, to greater heights - then I went to paint!!

The neighbours were a source of concern though - they were giving me ‘funny looks’ ( The ‘evuls’ I guess!) I kept my head down….. And the fecking fridge…

The fridge was still triumphantly announcing it was ‘too warm’ despite the polar ice cap conditions.

I spent age staring at it in concern- maybe we could reach a truce, if I somehow fiddled with it enough - it can’t have enjoyed being kicked so much.

Maybe - it was some kind of warning - it was clearly cold enough - by now - EVERYTHING was frozen - and not just my mushrooms - so the warning couldn’t be about temperature - there must be something hidden in its meaning… I went to paint, and to ruminate.

I had a moment of supreme clarity, standing on the chair, with paint roller in hand, where it all became clear - the fridge was WARNING me, my brain worked over-time, as I started to figure out why - It all came back to the neighbours of course.

We had moved house, and it was warning me about the neighbours - I could never hope to fit in - I wasn’t ‘clean’ enough - the neighbours - could it be true?- were stepford wives, and the fridge was warning me that they knew how slovenly I was, and how I sometimes shouted like a fish-wife at the children - It was a WARNING!

I went back down to the fridge, and gazed at it reverentially..

“TOO WARM!” It declared, urgently.. The contents of the fridge, remained immobile, solid, and coated in ice

It all made sense - yet what could I do to deal with it - this was outside of my experience. I had another frisson of panic.

I told dh about the fridge - he reassured me that the digital display panel was indeed ‘fucked’ (in technical terms)

I nodded absently - how could I expect him to understand - poor bloke - he had no idea what was going on - I avoided further discussion of my thoughts, in case the room was bugged by the neighbours -AKA step ford wives..

I grew more and more agitated, whilst I tried to work things out - I paced between the fridge, and the paint-roller. It struck me that I needed to talk to someone in confidence, someone out of the estate, who had the power to investigate - The Police!!

At 11pm - I walked into the kitchen, and wrenched the digital display off the shelf, combining both brute force and ignorance. The frozen contents regarded me silently…

Then, I announced to dh, that I was going for a walk, to clear my mind. I was dressed in my jimjams bottoms and paint spattered sweatshirt - before dh had chance to protest, I was out of the door.

My mobile phone rang incessantly - it was dh - but I didn’t answer - I love him dearly, but he had no clue as to what needed to be done…

I walked 3 miles, in my jimjams and painty sweatshirt, to the nearest police station, clutching part of the fridge..

It was a very cold and starry night, but I walked briskly - I started to wheeze halfway there, but had had the foresight to bring my inhalers.

Eventually, I reached the police station. I admired the bright lights and activity evident inside - THEY would help me - I started to calm - it would all be over soon, and things could get underway - I had worked out the problem - I just needed confirmation, and action…..
I approached the desk - the waiting room was empty..

“Can I help?” said the desk sergeant politely..

“I think indeed you can!” I said conspiratorily - and plonked part of the fridge unceremoniously on the counter.

She picked it up, examined it closely “TOO WARM” It warned - she awaited further clarification..

So I told her about the neighbours, the stepford wives, and the messages from the fridge etc
Her mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ of complete dismay and astonishment.

Undeterred, I carried on - this might sound incredulous to her, and she might need some convincing…

When I ran out of steam, she asked me if I lived on my own - I explained about dh - she asked if he knew I was out - well not exactly I explained - then she asked me for my phone number - and she CALLED him - to say they were going to bring me home!!

I was SO fucked off!! I couldn’t believe it!! I announced I was going out for a fag, and she shot after me, announcing she would come out with me..

I sullenly offered her a fag, which she declined, and I felt peversely glad. I smoked angrily - I was SOOO fucked off.

She was lovely though, and clearly wasn’t going to leave me unattended - we even made small talk, and laughed a lot, unbelievably - she was just a lovely person.

After 30 mins or so (I took pity on her, and went escorted indoors where it was warmer) the police car was ready to take me home.

The escort didn’t get much of a handover, and en route, they asked me why I had been arrested….

I indignantly pointed out, that I hadn’t been arrested, and that it was my neighbours that needed arresting, for being stepford wives, and for perverting my fridge…

They exchanged significant glances across the front of the car…

We got to our house - the police woman remarked “Gosh - its big! What a lovely house! Is this your home!”

Now I know I was in jimjams etc, and was rather dishevelled, but I didn’t know whether to be pleased, or affronted..

Dh opened the door, and escorted me inside - the policeman silently handed him the part of the fridge - Dh obligingly took it, but once we were inside, he flung it viciously into the bin..

And so we went to bed….