I gaze into my belly button reflectively

I think that the signs and portents were that I was about to almost kill myself.

Which was nice.

I drove to the hypnotherapist’s last night.

I hate going.

There is a particularly nasty right hand turn which I nearly always overshoot. It scares me. The road it feeds from is a busy cut through for commuters and they all drive very fast.  I end up having to go to the next roundabout, turn round and do a left hand turn instead.

Last night I didn’t want to go because:

• I had had three and a half hours sleep the night before with an award winningly horrible night and I was very, very tired.
• I had had a particularly trying session the week before which led me to have shocking sleep, eat my own face and have hideous panic attacks all week and was not looking forward to a reprise.
• Jason was late home from work meaning that I was feeling pressured for time.

Anyway. I did the right hand turn beautifully, and was just congratulating myself when I came across a huge, yellow diversion sign right across where I needed to go.  I had no choice but to follow the alternative route.  We struck out into deep countryside for miles, and miles.  Eventually I drove through a village with a huge reservoir that I had never even heard of before, even though I have lived round here all my life on and off.  I was incredibly stressed by this time and my internal panic was so loud I wasn’t really paying full attention to my speed.

I came to the end of the road rather too soon and zoomed out into the new road too fast.  I turned wildly and ended up driving on the right.  This, in a country where we traditionally drive on the left, is what is officially known as a ‘very bad thing’. 

I was very, very lucky that there was nothing coming the other way.  I still managed to what is known in these parts as ‘shit myself’.  I had to stop at the side of the road for a small fit of hysterics. 

Then I had no choice but to carry on, because I had no bloody idea where I was.

Ten minutes later I got there, parked about a foot away from the kerb and just abandoned the car.

I had two hours in which we did some more challenging work and I told her that I would not be coming back for a while.

I just cannot cope with it any more.

I have been brave for a very long time now.  What with driving and various forms of therapy since last March, it has been a year of constant testing, and I am full up.

I know I am not fixed.  I may never be fixed.  But the work we are doing is so demanding and so challenging I need a rest.  I talk about and think about things that I would rather keep locked away in the furthest recesses of my soul and just throw a big blanket over.  I dig ‘em out and we look at them, and then we prod ‘em and then we discuss them, and I go home feeling absolutely pummelled beyond belief.  Sometimes it is so much that I physically hurt.

Because it is happening so regularly I don’t think I have time to assimilate all the changes that are happening before the next one hits me like a huge, emotional tsunami. 

Someone asked me the other day if I thought it was working.  Here are the plus points:

• I passed my driving test after twenty one years of having three week’s worth of lessons and then quitting.
• I go out driving in my car every day, and apart from the odd, near death experience, it is o.k.  I do not love it, but I do not have to come home every time and change my clothes because I have soaked them through with fear filled sweat anymore.
• I have a job, which pays me money for the first time in nearly four years.  I am also enjoying it.  I cannot say I have ever had a job I actually enjoyed before.
• I am almost at the point where I can apply for university in September and do my M.A. properly this time.
• I have nearly finished my latest OU course and haven’t had to abandon it like I did the last one because it was too stressful.

These are all good things, no?

On the negative side:

• I still get panic attacks.  Panic attacks which are so bad they propel me out of bed and leave me shaking with anxiety.  I have them every day, sometimes several times a day.
• I still don’t sleep well at all.  In fact, I am terrified of going to sleep.
• I still have a crazed phobia about death and dying, which is still so bad that as I am typing these words it is making me feel physically ill.
• I am still having horrible dreams.
• I am still exhausted beyond belief.
• I still find it hard to cope with everyday life and quite often want to give it up and live under a duvet eating scones and scowling.
• I am very run down physically. My mouth is only just beginning to heal from last week where I chewed my cheeks so badly I couldn’t eat properly for three days and cried every time I brushed my teeth.  I have the beginnings of an ulcer on my tonsils, and I think I might be slightly anaemic again.
• My migraines are more frequent at the moment.

So I just don’t know, I think is the best answer I can come up with.

I am not going for a session next week, and then we are away for nearly five weeks, during which time I will think about things and assess things and come back and make a decision.

My hypnotherapist is a lovely lady, and very understanding.  She has been nothing but supportive all the way along, and has never pushed me to do anything.  She is totally accepting of my decision, and we will just have to wait and see.

I am glad I am not going again next week.  Today I have hardly been able to function I am so tired and bruised from yesterday.  It will be slightly better every day as the week progresses, and who knows, not having a session next week may be the answer to getting all my packing done on time without sitting on the cases crying and thinking; ‘Oh well, I have credit cards if we forget everything.’