After a few Hiccups along the way, I have reinstating my routine of popping my meds every morning and my mood this past week has improved, if only ever so slightly. I suppose that that is to be expected when your bestest friend in the whole wide world is leaving for America.
The last blurry few months have been a bit of a whirlwind of life events and I am hoping that it is coming to an end, although in reality I know deep down I am just teetering on the edge of another drop. I feel, more so at the moment with the imminent departure of my best friend, that whilst I have crossed many a Ravine in the last few months emotionally, I am on the knife edge of what could potentially be another fall and just a small gust is all it would take to tip me over the edge. That scares me. I think it is slowly settling in, this weekend especially when Mrs Tweedle-Dumb's parents threw a goodbye BBQ in her honor and in Great British style the bank holiday weekend was a bit of a washout, blowing away the gazebos and generally wreaking havoc on the garden. Laughing along together and giggling about our inside jokes no one else got, I realised that this would be the last time we had together. In less than a few days I would be loosing an incredible friendship with Mrs Tweedle-Dumb and whilst I have some amazing people around me, nothing will ever replace my first ever best friend. I feel ashamed and guilty of my selfish thoughts when I think about Mrs Tweedle-Dumb moving away with her new hubby, partly because I would not have given a flying fuck about who was left behind or what they were feeling - I would have been long gone. And I want her to do the same because Miss Tweedle-Dee and I will be OK back here because the fun that we will all have trying to successfully achieve a (three-way) Skype session or FaceTime. And to think of all the fun Miss Tweedle- Dee and I will have sending parcels to remind Mrs Tweedle-Dumb of home including goodies such as tea and HobNobs. And to think of the absolute excitement in receiving a parcel all the way from Mrs Tweedle-Dumb and her all American home, filled with exotic candy and chocolate, not to mention all of the goods that are way too expensive in the UK! Reasonably price UGGs and other designer goods? Yes please! I'm having palpitations just thinking about all of the spooky decorations and goods she could send me from the home of Halloween! Atop of that the incredible holibobs and excuses to fly out to be reunited. All of this I need to keep in mind when I think about how sad I will be when she has left.
Speaking of sadness, following my most recent appointment with the doctor, they had advised to continue also with counselling sessions and therapy as it had temporarily been put on hold as I had finished my previous sessions and now awaiting a appointment where I can be seen through the NHS however after being told it can be anywhere between eighteen months and two years, I am starting to consider if I need to go Privately to seek help. Certainly not the three-month time slot I was given when I first started. Whilst I appreciate that the NHS in England is definitely under a huge strain at the moment and that the doctors and nurses are doing their jobs to the best of their ability despite the cuts loss of funding they have experienced in the industry over the year's, I still think that it is fundamentally wrong and critically important to increase the waiting times to a better standard. Not that I am, but should I become suicidal at any point I would still potentially be waiting for treatment. The thing is, if I broke my leg on the other hand they would try to operate as soon as immediately possible, having me in and out of that specific treatment quickly and efficiently so as to move on to the next patient. And yet for mental health it appears as though there is a lack of understanding in terms of how life threatening and dangerous it is for patients to wait to seek treatment. As with a broken leg mental health can become infected very quickly and easily causing more and more damage, and yet despite all of this the waiting list in the UK, at least for England anyway, is minimum of eighteen months and two years.
To think where I will be in eighteen months and two years is a scary thought. We should be very comfy in our new home and Mrs Tweedle-Dumb and her Hubby would have visited at least once or twice to our new abode. But with the house slowly coming to an end (I hope) we finally had the Mortgage company confirm his findings from the survey visit last week and has now handed over our damned Mortgage Offer. I am upbeat and positive but I am slowly getting itchy and frustrated with not being able to move in yet. Still no move date as yet but following the receipt of our Mortgage Offer we should hear back this week with a date for our completion and exchange. Yet with Mr and Mrs Tweedle-Dumb's big move to America approaching fast, I am ever more doubtful that Mr. Warehouse and I will be in our new home by the time they leave. Whilst I am looking forward to sending my best friend off to a whole new world and life in sunny L.A, I just sometimes feel sad about it all.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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