So I wait for a few weeks. I dread some kind of hideous mood alteration, but actually, it just takes the edge off. What this little miracle pill has done, is to reign in the outer limits of terror and soften the dread on waking. You know, waking up at the crack of doom - stomach falling through the bed on waking, with heart palpitations and panic. Its amazing just how many symptoms I have actually been suffering. Bad dreams, sleep disturbance, never ending tearfulness, eating problems, stomach ache, emotional and physical fatigue, forgetfulness, clumsiness. Shall I go on? Oh yes and sometimes feeling suicidal and completely detached from reality! A friend tells me that although I am obviously bonkers, I have insight. I actually know I'm bonkers so won't be going off for an NHS holiday in the not too distant future. I feel ever so slightly relieved and have a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel. I am able to breathe a little bit easier. I actually laugh. Its a novelty.
Begining of September. My husband thinks we should brave a week away. I am dumb founded into silence and wonder if we can actually do something so incredibly difficult. I agree to go. We go to Poole and stay in a caravan. This is a prelude to psychotic symphony number 2. I over pack, take everything I can possibly fit in a Fiesta and take extravagant amounts of cleaning products. I am stressed, tired and anxious too. I'm not in a great space - Hind sight tells me this but at the time I was so caught up in my own head with the never ending conversations of what, where how and why. I am not taking stock of the situation with perspective. Perspective - oh the illusive gift! I start going "off on one" as soon as we arrive. Its very cold and as I step into the caravan itself, all I can smell is dirt. Its dirty. Its smelly and I do not want to touch anything. I stand around trying not to move or touch anything as my husband organises a cot bed and all of our equipment. Its at this point I get out a) Muslin cloths, b) Milton sterilising fluid - Very large bottle, and C) Bowl of boiling water. Once I start, I cannot stop. All I can see and smell is filth. I am irrationally terrified by the filth. I am on my hands and knees and I am scrubbing everything. After an hour or so, my husband attempts to negotiate with me into stopping, at which point I realise I can't stop.I start crying uncontrollably and he lifts me off the floor and puts me into bed. Its dingy and horrid and I curl up into a ball to make the possiblity of touching anything as little as possible. I must have gone to sleep as I am suddenly awake and I think something appalling and terrifying is about to happen. I cling to my husband who wakes up and tells me I'll be ok. Strangely enough this leads to a very enjoyable 30 minutes of adult play time, which was very unexpected. I pass out and the trauma is over. Thank god.