I feel I should say a few more words in addition to the last post. Firstly, thank you all for your concern – to those that commented here, contacted me through Twitter or indeed those that contacted me directly. I am OK, and all the better for your concern, for which I am extremely grateful.
Despite what I said on Boxing Night, I don’t think a hospital admission is necessary or desirable just at the minute (well, not that it would ever be desirable, but you know what I mean). It is my belief that the delusions and the severity of the hallucinations the previous day were induced by severe stress, and are hopefully ‘just’ transient. ‘They’ are usually there these days, even to the extent where they are stealing my thoughts (schizophrenic-esque thought-blocking?) but fortunately their desire to cause harm in the same way as the day they first arrived has not been present since I’ve been taking Olanzapine.
I was discussing with C at the last session (which I have yet to blog about – hopefully by early next week) about how I hadn’t been (consciously) bothered about my history with Paedo until fairly recently. As this was towards the end of the session, we didn’t have time to explore the possible reasons for that, but no doubt it was lying in my unconscious, unprocessed, the whole time, subtly and insidiously contributing to my chronic depression and severe breakdowns.
Anyway, for whatever reason, it bothers me now, and the feeling of horror and dread about it and about him was very acute on Christmas Day. The McFs were going out for Christmas Dinner (good, because it meant slightly less claustrophobia), but it started out badly when it was decided (after an unnecessarily protracted debate) that A and I would travel to the restaurant alone with Paedo and MMcF. It was an utterly vile 20 minutes trying to make smalltalk with the two of them and when MMcF surreptitiously handed me £10 to buy A and myself a drink, she said, “I hope you have a very happy Christmas,” causing me to laugh incredulously in her face.
By the time we arrived at the restaurant I was highly agitated, and upon sitting down (trying and failing to not be close to Paedo) downed two Valium. It was not just him. It really was not just him. There were about 16 or 17 people around the table, and I just cannot tolerate that. Groups make me endlessly nervous, especially when they are all talking loudly and demandingly at once, and especially when (despite knowing them all my life) I am deeply nervous around and have nothing in common whatsoever with the personnel concerned. My history with Paedo just exacerbated something that would have already been there.
The Valium helped, and I relaxed a bit, but it was still bloody awful. The meal was nice enough, but I threw half of it up and my IBS was out of control. A and I forced our way through it, but the worst was yet to come. Rather than go back to MMcF’s house after dinner, it had been decided to go to Suzanne’s. I have nothing against Suzanne and her husband, but for some reason the dynamic in their house is always different from elsewhere; everyone congregates in the same room on top of each other, whereas back at MMcF’s, at least people break into factions, making the group more manageable.
Suzanne’s was tortuous. The overbearing crowd, the inanity of the stilted conversation, the obsessive fixation with Marcus (whose nose will be put out of joint when his sibling is born in March), my mind recalling my history with Paedo and my Mum’s disbelief when I told her about it – it all got on top of me, and indeed of poor A.
‘They’ had been telling me all day what a horrid, fetid slag I am, but I’ve learnt to…not ignore them, and not push them to the back of my head, because that’s where they reside anyway. I don’t know; I’ve learnt how to not respond to them, I suppose, when they are wittering on like this, which is a lot of the time. However, it’s pretty much not possible to fight them when they turn into the all-powerful screaming cacophony that they were the first day I encountered them.
Well, didn’t they start it again, just as we had managed to escape the worst bit of sitting about in the living room, joining as we did ScumFan and DMcF, who were playing the X-Box in the kitchen. ‘They’ started screaming at me that I was evil for keeping my mouth shut about the rape and the molestation, that I had put all the other generations at risk and that it would therefore be a mercy for me to “eliminate” Marcus, given that he could expect “nothing but” the same fate from his great-grandfather. I tried to ignore them, really I tried, but the more I fought them, the more and more effort they put into their critical wailing. I was ordered to go to where Marcus was sleeping and smother him.
Of course, the last thing in the world I want to do is kill someone, especially not an innocent kid, so by this point I was hiding behind A and covering my ears and muttering a poem (as well as some ‘shut ups’) in order to try and distract myself. The next thing I remember was being in the utility room in tears banging my head against the washing machine (!). I tried to get past A, who was standing their blocking my exit, but he wouldn’t let me past for fear that ‘They’ might have successfully compelled me to go to Marcus’s room. I think I slid down the wall in defeated resignation then; I was convinced ‘They’ had finally taken complete control of my mind. The fight was over.
Well, luckily ‘They’ hadn’t managed to take control, and the fight wasn’t over. I honestly don’t recall how this all finished, but the next thing of which I do have a clear recollection was having a discussion about something or other with Suzanne, Marcus’s mother, in a calm, almost seemingly jolly fashion. Yet all the time I was thinking, “the voices in my head just now wanted me to murder your baby son, you know.” Thank God people generally can’t read my mind.
When A and I went to bed, and I don’t remember saying any of this, apparently I was convinced that A was not A but in fact his sister. I also apparently believed that ScumFan – surely the most innocent and naive of young men – was involved in a serious way with drugs. Needless to say, these ridiculous delusions disturbed A considerably. And then, thanks to Zopiclone…nothing.
Boxing Day was better than Christmas Day, but still awful. In the morning, I completely defied ‘They’ by playing with Marcus as I normally would (obviously in others’ company). ‘They’ mumbled and whined a little like they usually do, but mercifully it was nothing with which I could not deal, and at no point did they try to persuade me to harm the baby. Shortly after midday, A and I headed off to his father’s house.
Normally, it’s just A, his father, step-mother and me for Boxing Day, but on this occasion his aunt and her husband turned up. I just wanted to sit and vegetate, as is the norm on our visits to A’s Dad’s, but the aunt would not shut up for more than three seconds. Nice enough woman, but she began to grate on me not just through her constant demands for conversation, but also as she made underhand insults directed at A, inferring (and not at all subtly) that he was less intelligent than her children (which is not true, but since they have degrees from Oxford she feels that it is so, apparently). A told me later that she had been intensely jealous of his parents when it was realised that he was a smart kid, and she always wanted to better them. What a poor, sad cow. How pathetic and meaningless must one’s life be to be so utterly fixated on bringing up intelligent children simply to compete with others?
One thing I’ll say in her defence was that despite her laughable level of inebriation she didn’t at any point attempt to embarrass me by quizzing me on the reasons for my present lack of employment, presumably having been warned in advance by A’s step-mother not to do so. It’s not that I’m ashamed of being mental, but it’s hard to convince people of the sincerity of the conditions sometimes, especially (I’d imagine) when they’re as plastered as she was.
Eventually A and I escaped to his mother and step-father’s house, which is always fairly relaxed. Upon getting in, knowing I wouldn’t have to drive again, I opened a bottle of red and downed it in literally about five minutes.
And now it is over. It is over. There surely is a God! We are keeping out of everyone’s way on New Year’s Eve, having booked into a hotel for the night. We’re not attending any function – we’re just going to sit in either a quiet corner of the bar, or in our room with a bottle of wine. Alone. All a-fucking-amazingly-lone. Then, on Sunday 3 January, we’re going to another hotel, this time for two nights, thus using a Christmas present from A’s mother. Both hotels are fairly plush, with pools, nice restaurants and bars, beautiful settings and privacy. AI hope these will prove just what is needed as a tonic to the horrors of the past week.
I had strongly considered killing myself on Boxing Morning, but I need to remain alive for the duration of these sojourns, as I hope they will serve to relax me and hopefully mentally prepare me in some small way for the year ahead.