Psychiatrist appointment today. It may be that I'm not supposed to say that. Well too f***ing bad.
Some things are not improved by pretending it's not so. I have been on sick leave for seven months. There is a whole world of pain in that - a lot of that is physical. Actually it is a pain in the arse. It is a pain in the gut. It is just painful. But the physical and mental are closely intertwined. I get stressed. My gut clenches. My gut clenches. I feel stressed. Shitting yourself in public is psychologically damaging. It just is.
There is a sting in that tale, My psychiatrist understands that. He assesses me by speaking about politics. It would be weird if I didn't know a wee small bit about how these things work. My mother's psyche talks golf to her.
My son's talks musical theatre (yes we are all mad).
If you can't rise to the bait about your "special" interest, you mood is low, really low. I'm low... I'm sad...I'm lacking clarity and direction.
But I think the real Susan Hetherington is still in there, somewhere.
I talk about work.
He talks about how work might be good for me. In small doses.
The devil is in the detail.
We agree.
The real Susan Hetherington is there. She just needs to find a way out. She's injured. She's down. She's not out.
She will emerge. Somehow. Eventually. But for now I shall stop and suck on the nectar of the flowers.
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