Going nuclear 

I had a phone call with my GP this afternoon, and I reluctantly had to admit to her that I’m not coping. Things are getting worse, anxiety-wise, and I feel only a step or two away from not functioning at all. The result is that I’m being referred back to the psychiatric hospital. I thought I’d be upset about this, but I’m at the stage where I’ll do anything to try and get back to normal. I guess that tells you just how badly I need help.

I’m now unable to use public transport, so my only option for getting to work is driving – I live too close to my workplace to qualify for a permit, so I have to spend £10 a day to use the car park. Anxiety is costing me big time now, but I either spend the money or spend my day worrying to the point of being sick over how I’m going to get home. I hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

I even sought out a new therapist, who I met with for the first time on Monday. I like her – she’s can help me make connections like Dr T could, and she’s very keen on me having ‘control’ in our sessions which is a novelty, but the hour itself was hard. I had to skip out twice to use the bathroom. To be fair, it’s hard to talk about toilet-based anxiety without making yourself need the loo, but I felt embarrassed. She was lovely about it though, and I’m hopeful we can be productive in future.

There’s not much more I can do at this point with both drugs and therapy in progress, so I guess I have to sit tight and wait for a ‘summons’ to the hospital. 

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