Living by Fear


I have just put down the ‘phone to the Adult Mental Health Team. My G.P. agreed to my re-referral; the AMHT must have been keeping me afloat, even if they did’t make me better. But, as yet having had no assessment, no care-coordinator – having weathered Christmas without a mobile ‘phone signal – they aren’t sure who can help me.

They will call me back. In the meantime, I must “stay safe”. Call them if I feel I am not. The irony? That’s why I called them in the first place. I have endured a Christmas period of extremes between my  parents – the one wanting me to “talk” – carefully studying the symptoms of my disorder online, flatly denying that their parenting had any contribution to it – at all – whilst wondering what to tell relatives if I stop work for treatment (how about the truth?); the other, not mentioning it. The one living in imaculate domestic bliss, having renovated and decorated an entire bungalow in three months flat (too busy to talk – wallpaper stripping)  – the other, living  with the odds and ends of the familial crockery collection, in squalor, the flat not having seen a paintbrush in years. One, espousing the opinions of the Daily Mail –  the other, a Corbynite.

At one home, wound up by my brother, beyond the point of no return, I explode at him. Meltdown in fury. I am the devil epitomised. I should be destroyed. At the other, I silently implode, because no amount of cajoling is going to change things. As the to-do list mounts untouched ( I need to get a solicitor, bookshelves, double-glazing…), it all falls on deaf ears. My mother is demanding a share in my father’s meagre pension. Divorce settlement. (I want to do this humanely). Like, right.

I must wait for an assessment with a psychiatrist, maybe tomorrow. My G.P., it transpires, heard the suicidality and desperation: made an urgent referral for support. They are duty-bound to see me soon. Amidst the extremities, caught up amongst them, is a jealousy so hot it burns. I am the only one in my family without a partner. My cousin’s parents visit. Talk solidly about The Wedding of 2016 (my Mother, later:  You are coming? You’d have to have a really good excuse to miss this one, you have to be there).  Two, maybe three other sets of friends get engaged. Others get pregnant, get partners. Get on with life. I  congratulate them. I am numb, but for the jealousy coursing through my veins, revealed in cutting, scratching, tearing, biting. Revealed, but not abated.


I am so angry with myself. So angry with not being able to cope, with messing up every f-ing relationship, with having no motivation, with being hateful and horrid, with being stuck. Nothing changes for me. Nothing has changed for the better in a long, long time.  Rather, evidence has amassed for people’s utter hatred towards me. I want to die. I would rather die than carry on like this. I have the material means to die. What I need is the courage. It is only fear that stops me now.

This entry was posted in church, mental illness, reasoning, work and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Living by Fear

  1. ‘Fear’, and maybe love? Because you are loved.

    Whatever you feel some feel towards you, there are those who love you – dearly.

    I’m sorry for the dichotomy that is your parents. If it were me, I think I’d rather the squalor than the seeming bliss. But I’m glad your GP listened; and I’m glad AMHT seems to be doing something at last.

    You have been very much in my thoughts and prayers. I read your NY post on FB and my thought for you was that this be a year of breakthrough. That’s what I’m praying for.

    In the meantime, be still – and breathe! And let me know when you can visit Scotland!



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