I’m not well. In fact I’m struggling. As per the previous two, I have reached the point in house arrest where I am actually going quietly insane. My head is a very ugly place to live right now. It properly scares me. The random thoughts from Tuesday haven’t calmed. They’ve both amplified and multiplied. I don’t feel at imminent risk, on the whole, but I feel volatile and erratic. It’s a feeling I associate with being sectioned back in 2014. Like I’m not sure what I might do next. The urge to bolt, the urge to disappear is overwhelming.

I was criticised earlier for not making an effort to help myself. I could be going for walks. I could go to the Costa drive thru to get a cuppa. I could go to the local beauty spot. The same beauty spot that when I suggested going there previously, the same person told me was stupidly busy and I wouldn’t be able park. I tried to explain the crippling apathy that has stopped me doing these things, but I was told I had no right complaining if I wasn’t making an effort. What my stupid dull brain failed to respond with at the time was this; those are not my self care things. That’s probably why my depressed body hasn’t even attempted them. Walking (all 10 minutes or so) just hurts my back. Going to the drive thru doesn’t really excite me anymore than making a cuppa at home. Unless I was meeting a friend to have the drink with. And while I do occasionally go to the beauty spot, usually it’s to go and have a think. Probably the most dangerous thing I could do currently. Especially alone, in the middle of nowhere with errant and now and then suicidal thoughts. But I couldn’t articulate. And as much as I thought this person understood depression, and more specifically, my depression, I guess I was wrong. I am trying I swear. Every day that I get up, have a bath, put clothes on, I for one know how hard I’ve worked.

But it’s not enough. All the things I’ve achieved indoors, albeit small things, none of it is enough. Inside my head I’m a failure. I’m pathetic. Useless. A waste of space. Ugly. Fat. Lazy. Stupid. Abhorrent. Undeserving of love or care. In fact the world would possibly be a better place without me in it.

I’m not trying to be alarmist. But this is what I’m battling every waking hour right now. It’s relentless. So will I be flouting government guidelines and meeting a friend in the near future? It’s possible, yes. Am I happy about it? No I’m absolutely not, I no more wish to put anyone at risk than the next sane person. But sanity is precious, and I feel mine is draining away like the sand in an egg timer. The mental health team won’t help. The GP is lovely but can’t help. My counselling is due to end in two weeks. The only person who can stand up for my mental well-being now is me. And even I’m hanging on by a thread. Something has to give and I pray it won’t be my sanity.