She said she was concerned about my mental health. She said she was "worried" I was "driving" myself "mad" writing emails to the Council. She told me to stop doing that. "But it's blogging it all too," I said. "But I can't seem to control that."
In my weakened state, I was running off at the mouth abit, my head resting on my arm against her table.
"I must say you aren't looking very well," she said.
"Oh that might be the wine I drank yesterday but I am not sleeping, I'm barely eating, and I'm smoking so much I nearly threw up coughing coming to see you."
She wanted my support worker's telephone number "so we can work together with this". Deep, deep in my subconcious, I felt something akin to relief.
I sloped off to buy some food. My mate Charlie had called saying to go to Iceland. I thought about blogging about that but maybe another day. So cheap in there though compared to where I usually go with my nectar card!
The Foca came to take our son out to dinner as pre-arranged. He offered to feed me too. I declined. I felt like shit.
I physically couldn't switch on my computer while my son was gone, not even to respond to Facebook friends. It's been a long while since I've been on there.
I'm not entirely sure it's good to fight a war and leave all your friends behind you, but that's exactly what I'm doing. I'll get back in touch with them one day. I'll tell them I've been "travelling". Hopefully they'll welcome me back.
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