War [noun]: a state of competition or hostility between different people or groups.
I had a talk with Bubbles (CPN), and then Katie Morag (care-coordinator) today and yesterday, and I don’t know what to think. It’s as though there is this them-versus-my parents thing going on: me, Katie Morag, Bubbles, and Yo Yo Mar (new introduction, he’s the top dog, my consultant) want me to be more independent and Mr Mediator and Dr Feline are getting in the way. But I’ve just realised that this is a story. I never said that. Where did it come from? It’s fiction. It could be a novel we’re writing. The whole of the universe could be a novel we’re writing (but let’s not go that far).
What I mean is, they end up say things because I don’t know what to say or I just have a little throwaway moan about being annoyed with Dr Feline, and they’ve blown it completely out of proportion so that it’s them versus us. I guess I also like to melodramatic, so I focus on how awful everything. So now, Mr Mediator and Dr Feline are the enemy and we are out to ease them in gently to a new way of doing things. Becoming more independent, going out more, having more time alone, going out with friends unescorted, less structured time, respite care, living in my own flat, MOVING OUT…
Do I even want to move out? I don’t know because I cannot think clearly. I was talking to Bubbles about this the other day in relation to this blog, and saying how emotionless it was and she said that at this weight, that’s how I’m going to be. I’m not going to be able to access emotions. This emotionless shell of a human being is me.
So, other people put ideas into me: things that they would like. Of course, they’d like to see me ‘better’ and one part of that would be being more independent. And that terrifies me. But is fear a reason to stop doing things? Or am I not ready? Or is that just an excuse?
We have a Home Team Meeting which involves Mr M, Dr F, Katie M, and the heads of my two separate care providers Vicky (from Notaro) Apollo’s gift (from Arch Care). We had a horrible row tonight, as we usually meet prior to the HTMs to discuss what we want to say, and I just hate them. So, I was pretty vocal about it and we ended with no pre meeting, and a lot of shouting between Dr F and me.
This can’t go on.
But, actually, it can. If I stay around this weight and there’s no crisis, I could live for years and years and years just as I am. What frightens me more: that, death, or recovery?
And, as always, I don’t know.