I've been dozing in the sitting room since I last wrote this - now I'm up, showered and dressed for the first time in a couple of days. I do feel better when I'm up, but somehow getting in the shower is a mountain to climb. Anyway, I've done it. I've answered a few emails, and made a phone call, so I'm gradually getting there. Tesco's came this morning and I'd ordered some banana milk - it's delicious. And fattening, no doubt. I've put on weight during this episode, so I shall have to diet a bit when I'm better. The trouble is that I only eat rubbish when I'm depressed.
I've put steroid cream on my hands, which looks awful but which I think is necessary, as they are a bloody mess. Bloody in both senses. I'm just glad it's only my hands, as it's hit my face before now. I'm gearing myself up to drive to Erle's at 4pm for late lunch - sausage casserole, which sounds great, with mashed potato. I ordered some ready meals from Tesco's, so I can have hot food again. Must unpack the bags. And put the rubbish out, and do the washing, but they might happen tomorrow. Must find out what time HT are visiting as well - it's their last visit before I get discharged back to my care coordinator. They have been truly splendid in keeping me out of hospital.
Why is it only sport on TV this afternoon? Very boring, so I'll watch an episode of something on a DVD before I go out.
I spent 16 years in the RAF defending the Free World , then got bunged out unceremoniously for being bipolar. I and was subsequently diagnosed with PTSD. Funny old world, isn't it?