On Sunday afternoon, I have had enough. I see the AMHT at the hospital, and they tell me to ride out the thoughts. This too will pass. I leave. But I  have so many things that I have to get done that I no longer stand a chance of achieving them all, and I have let do many people down. So many things but no energy. I am exhausted. I want to seriously hurt myself.

At home, I crawl into a duvet cocoon. It’s safe in there, and I pull the duvet over my head and shut out the world. I hold my arms tight to my chest. My heart is racing and I can barely breathe. I am crying. So many things I should be doing. My mind tells me I have no hope, never will, should just die. I breathe. They’re just thoughts. They will go.


The bedclothes are warm and clean, and I relax. Reflect that I can change a thick, winter double duvet cover with one hand. There is still stuff I can do. I sense that the fresh sheets of the day before feel good around me. I breathe more deeply. I drift in and out of wakefulness, of telling my mind to shut up and shut down. I rest.

My ex-partner unearths me a few hours later; helps me prepare a meal; we eat together. He reassures me that having support from AMHT is OK; it’s how I cope, and coping is necessary with an illness like this. It’s OK to ask for help, and for some company when it is advised. And he doesn’t mind helping.

I feel calmer, and sleepy, and I re-cocoon for the night. Even in the morning, I feel I could sleep forever and ever. I am still exhausted. But the duvet cocoon holds me safe while I am.


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