Fear and self-loathing in the North.

I don’t really know where to go with this.  But the last two weeks have been difficult to say the least.  As I type this post, I can feel the urge to shut the laptop down and not write it.  It’s embarrassing to write about.  So the question is, why do it?  Because I need to let it out.  Because I’m tired of bottling it up.

I moved house two weeks ago, which isn’t an easy task.  When you’re solely responsible for moving the lives of two people, it’s harder.  There’s no-one to share the load with.  I’ve organised everything: the new house itself, dealing with the housing association, removals, the packing, getting social services on-side, organising a new care team, new equipment, dealing with the old landlord (of which more, later), swap-over of domestic services, address changes….the list is a long one but it’s all been down to me.  That’s just the way of things – it couldn’t have been any other way.

I’ve felt my stress levels rising rapidly (I can’t even write those words without feeling sneers of disapproval – don’t ask why or from who/where – I just do).  I’ve been lucky insofar as I’ve had my Mum staying with us to help with the practical things.

It got to the point that, on moving day, I was sick of hearing my name and having someone “need” to have my input or approval.  I was travelling between the new house and the old, overseeing everything the movers were doing, dealing with signing the agreements, everything.  And in the quiet minutes, being a carer.  And in the tiny cracks of time between that, being a husband – rather, trying to be.  The panic attack I had should have sounded a warning bell but I had to keep going.

We’d been in the house three days when I was involved in a car accident.  It’s in the hands of the insurers now which feels to me a little like it’s sub judice.  Everyone involved was OK and MW wasn’t in the car at the time.  It shook me like hell, and it’s been a grind dealing with insurers, garages, solicitors, the police.  It’s something I could have done without.  I could tell that I was in a bad way, mentally, but no-one can take over from me.

Another blow came the following day.  Our old landlord sent me an e-mail which put me into a spin.  He’s sought to keep the bond we left, giving the most flimsy reasons for keeping it and ensuring that we’d need to fight for it by legal means.  This, along with the fall-out after the car accident was all I could take.  At first, I was just numb.  Working on auto-pilot.  But, at the beginning of last week, I was in a bad way.  Crying all the time.  Worrying about everything.  Scared of everything.  Tired of all the responsibility.

I was thinking things that I’ve thought before and they scared me.  I just wanted to say “make sure that MW is looked after” and disappear.  I didn’t even know what I meant by that, only that I didn’t feel worthy of being around.  I don’t just mean unworthy of being in this place – the new house – at this time.  I mean unworthy of being anywhere.  That I’d made people worry, that I’d disappointed people.  That I’d let everyone down, especially MW.

My Mum was about to go home (to be fair, she’s been here for about two months now) but I had to ask her to stay a little longer.  I suspect she could tell by my behaviour that I was in a bad way.  Fortunately, she agreed.  She’s still here.  I don’t know where I’d be if she wasn’t.

I’m tired.  I’m not sleeping properly or feel like sleeping half way through the day.  I’m still crying but not as much.  And I’m still scared.  Still fearing the phone ringing, the post arriving, wondering where the next setback’s coming from.

Anyhow, this post’s rambling about with no real focus.  Which is pretty much where I’m at right now.  Rambling about trying to keep going as best as I can.  But it’s a struggle.

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