When The Tears Came…

Today, I reverted back to an old (and unhelpful) coping strategy…I did not stop moving.  I’ve been an emotional wreck all day and, rather than sit down and take stock, I’ve been on the run most of the day.  I’ve gone from my Cousin’s (at about 10am) to an appointment with the GP, back to my Cousin’s, back to the surgery for an appointment with the Nurse, and back to my Cousin’s again.  It wasn’t until this point, when I sat down with her to have a cup of tea, that I let the tears come.  With perfect timing, I then received a promised phone call from a CPN (not my own, but one whom I know and can talk easily to) who then had to listen to me snivel down the phone.  To her credit, she was lovely and promised to inform all members of my care team where I am at, and why (to come in a subsequent post, when I am feeling less drained).

To be honest, I should know better than this.  I learned long ago that no matter how far you run, or how fast you travel, you will eventually realise that you’re exhausted, have eaten nothing, are running on empty and can go no further.  My cousin told me that I need to let my guard down more often, that the occasional good cry is cleansing, helpful and almost necessary.  Judging on how I feel now, she may be right…although I have had 7.5mg of Diazepam and no food…

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