I slept most of today. I’m just so tired, more than normal. Getting up was a struggle. Mind you it’s pissing with rain and freezing here so it’s pretty hard to get motivated anyway.
Got up to see my psychiatrist – as usual she was on the ball. Not really. I told her I was feeling ‘low’ she knows about my little stay in hospital. She asked what was going on, I explained I’d had a motorbike accident, smacked my head, shoulder is still buggered. But my usual GP that I liked in the city has left so I registered with the same gp as the kids – which is local. But I have to wait for my details to be loaded into the system – apparently data entry takes nearly a week here. Good old local gps. And making an appointment before I’ve been loaded is a no go. So I’m waiting to pursue that. I told my psychiatrist that. She asked if my husband was being supportive, I explained he was being nice, which was the best I could hope for, but really my marriage was shot so I couldn’t rely on him. I told her I don’t sleep well, and I told her I just found out my case has hit the skids in the UK.
She told me she didn’t expect me to be ‘normal’ considering all this. I was still jet lagged, my medication would take a while to settle because of the time difference and it wasn’t worth looking at adding medication while I was still settling into a ‘routine.’ She asked again if I had a gun or access to one. Good old Welly increasing on the gun crime front, it’s the focus point now for all us nutters.
She was shy of telling me to get on with it.
And I got my usual prescription, which I dropped off en route home.
So aside from getting more medication, the whole thing was pretty pointless. I’m seeing her in another month.
I guess if I’d flung myself on the floor, cried and screamed I was losing it – the outcome would have been different. But frankly, I was too tired and can’t be bothered to talk more about my feelings. I told her I was ‘low’ not sleeping and really not very happy. But I guess she considers me a moody cow. That as long as I don’t get a gun, I’m ok to put on the backburner.
Believe me if I had a gun, I wouldn’t be waving it around and scaring the shit out of people, I’d have gone somewhere quiet and blown my head off. Although knowing my bizarre immortality I probably would have just ended up with half my face blown off and STILL alive.
I’ve arranged to catch up with a couple of friends tomorrow, that know me and my history and state of my marriage. That’s good because it means I don’t have to fake smile and pretend I’m ecstatic to be back in NZ. It will be nice to try and have a conversation and not be shut away in my head with my miserable thoughts and self critical monologue.
Let’s hope I don’t scare my friends away.
So I’m home, I’m tired, slipped back into bed. Asked my husband if he could leave earlier – more for his benefit. The roads are flooding, there are closures and bridges are falling down. I prefer he collect the kids, I have a hard enough time talking to the staff and being happy for the kids sake. They keep asking me if I’m ok, in a way, it’s a blessing I had the bike accident because I can blame my quietness and shut down face on pain. Which isn’t a total lie, my shoulder has limited mobility and the back of my head still aches. It was fortunate I got to use the hospital to get a head scan. I’m surprised it was clear, as the pain is centred and I get dizzy spells but again, I’m like the terminator. Which is frankly a bit shit when I’m so fucking miserable I’d be happy to keel over and cark it.
Ah well, I’ll be back