It stretches, time, and it contracts, and this week has lasted what feels like months.
Saturday was bad; Sunday and Monday were worse. Those two days between them felt like your average week, but now they seem to have happened ages ago. But then Tuesday was better and I was able to make conversation with other people in a normal, jokey kind of a way, for at least part of the day. I met my new counsellor and really took to her, too. Wednesday was, again, a bit better still, I got some good news and did a lot and just didn’t stop moving. Yesterday was a bit harder – I didn’t have to be out of bed until ten and that was not a good idea. But once I’d got out of bed I kept moving and I had a not bad day. I met up with a lot of people for an extended coffee/lunch thing which was genuinely a great few hours. I got a bit of a talking to from J later that day about the need to be OK even in front of my housemates, and the fact that I’d rather forgotten that two of them are also pretty recently single and doing a lot better than me, and so I had lots of conversations about lots of things which I steered a million miles away from myself, as I had been doing for hte past few afternoons, except I managed to maintain this state of affairs right up until the point where I went to bed, and I slept well. This morning I woke up and life crept up on me somewhat until I found myself choking up my guts in the bathroom with very little real idea why (tea is a horrible thing to vomit up, incidentally) but that made me feel a lot better, somehow. Less sick, and less emotional.
Now I’m going home, and that’s good on the one hand – one always wants to be home when you need to retreat and lick your wounds for a bit – but on the other hand, Uni Town is somewhere that P and I never were together; and obviously Home Town is somewhere we did spend a reasonable amount of time together. Specifically in our home house, long enough to establish routines and places and when I see certain bits of my room I will drop, suddenly, back into my past. Really I want to climb into my parents bed and stay there instead with one or other of them, like I did when I was a baby.
You mustn’t worry. I am doing more or less OK. It’s just a couple of hours each day which are terrible and I’m sorry that those couple of hours seem to be frequently the point at which I choose to write, or draft, a blog entry. Once I’ve got out of hte house and got moving I’ll be fine, absolutely fine, and you wouldn’t even guess to look at me that I was anything other than perfectly happy. And I will be OK.