Journey of the Something

I’ve fallen behind with the blog again. Not by much – not compared to my usual marathon sabbaticals, but enough to be sitting here with two or three half written blog posts in Notepad, that really should be published in order.
The truth is, I am mentally exhausted. I am trying so hard to go further, push myself harder, that I’ve tired myself out. I look at the text box on my blogging software and the letters turn to mush before my eyes. I write a couple of sentences, and my concentration wanders onto anything – usually nothing.
On Thursday 30th May, I walked to the corner shop by myself. I went inside, and bought a pint of milk and a rather delicious chicken sandwich. An achievement that warrants a blog post all of its own, and indeed, I had mostly written a blog post all about it. Then on Friday 1st June I did it all again, and waited at the edge of the estate for Becky to collect me for her knitting group. Monday saw another knitting group, followed by a grand outing with Becky and her two daughters to the Botanical Gardens. Another blog post. Somehow, I fell behind, and now I’m sitting here at 7am on a Saturday Sunday, thinking “Crap, I really ought to get my skates on and write”.
I need to write. I need to document all the things I’ve been doing, partly so I can tell D my psychologist when I see her on Tuesday. The plan had been to write about each outing in detail, because if I said, “oh yeah, I’ve managed to go to the shop then walk down as far as the post office, cross the road and walk back home” it sounds like I’ve not been doing anything in between and I could do this all along. I’m supposed to be trying to convey what it’s like recovering from agoraphobia. Saying “I went to the shop yesterday” doesn’t quite do it.
The plan was to do “graded exposure”, build up slowly with an eventual goal of going to the Post Office to post Something. I have been doing this, and managing well – thinking about what I’m doing, making a note of any negative thoughts, considering how I feel. On Friday, I walked to the shop and bought a sandwich again, then walked further down the road towards the Post Office. I felt like I was a million miles away from home, exposed, vulnerable. It’s a strange sensation doing things like this when you haven’t for so long. I know it will subside the more I do it, but right now, it feels weird. When I came home, I thought about when to post the Something at the Post Office. I decided against Monday, simply because it would be so busy, and I think the first time I do this, it needs to be on my terms.
So, yesterday morning as Mr D was getting ready, I wrapped the Something, put it in a jiffy bag, addressed it, and set off. Going with a purpose seemed better, somehow. I think this was partly because this was my End Goal – and I was doing it. When I’d mentioned to D about doing this before Woolfest, it seemed so distant and unreachable, but now here I was, striding off with a purpose. The more steps I took, the more I reminded myself that I’d already done this (barring going inside the Post Office) I’d gone this far, I’d managed and not freaked out.
I walked into the Post Office, and the chap behind the counter greeted me with a cheery “Good morning!” He’s a lovely bloke, with a wicked sense of humour and always has a cheerful smile. He weighed my parcel, I paid the postage, took my receipt, thanked him and went. That was it – my Something was on its way. Walking back, I don’t know if it was my imagination that I had a spring in my step. I’d done it – I’d gone to the Post Office, and no-one had died, the sky hadn’t fallen, and I hadn’t panicked.
I need to keep doing this, but there’s only so much I can do at the Post Office before the postmaster thinks I fancy him. I might chuck stuff on ebay, so my therapy is lucrative in more ways than one. Whatever else I do, I can’t stop now.

10 thoughts on “Journey of the Something

  1. Mary says:

    play chess by post?
    You are doing so well. And anyone who knows you, knows that “I went to the shop and bought a pint of milk and a chicken sandwich” is a description of a major achievement. When that twitter came through saying “ladies and gentlemen – WE HAVE MILK!” I almost jumped up and cheered.

  2. Mary says:

    *cheers again*

  3. I for one can be entirely composed that you’re not keeping up with the blogging when it means you’re tackling the tricky, important stuff. Which is not to say I don’t do a little “yay!” when there’s a new post.

  4. Chris Smith says:

    I can only say ‘Told you so!!!’ WELL DONE!
    Bugger the blogging, you’re getting your life back…much more important.
    Love, Chris

  5. Steve says:

    Fantastic! It looks like you are progressing in leaps and bounds (which would be an interesting way to get to the post office)…
    Seriously, well done you.

  6. Robert says:

    Hi there!
    V interesting blog. Read all the entries! Now that I know u exist, I’ll be a regular visitor, hoping that ur progress continues!
    U might notice that I have a blog too – v different 2 yours! The entries son far are about the history of my wife’s condition, but in a couple of weeks, I’ll have got up to the present & then I’ll be writing in real time.
    Sending u my best wishes 4 ur continuing recovery!

  7. Well done…last time when I commented said that you got rid of the problem and how with this post its getting very clear, that you are normal. Keep the good work going on and as other said life is very important…

  8. Ruby says:

    That is excellent, a huge achievement, I have just reached the task of walking to the letter box, the next one is the corner.

  9. Carrie Anne says:

    I’ve got to say I am blown over by these last two posts *gets up and waves the pompoms about again* 😀

  10. Aff says:

    I haven’t read your blog for a while, mainly because I forget to with the million other things I tend to do online. But I found it again today and this entry made me smile.
    I think a lot of what you say reminds me of when I’ve achieved something and that spring in the step definitely isn’t imagined.
    I won’t forget again.

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