Nine: Four years

It's the fourth anniversary of his death today.  I don't feel much. Numb.  Anxious that I'll stop feeling numb.  My session at the Tavistock was not terribly gruelling.  I spoke minimally about my Dad, more about my relationship with my boyfriend which feels a more immediate issue.

In short I made it through the 55 minutes without crying, and I felt relatively okay until on the way out, I crossed paths with the inpatient psychiatrist who saw me through the whole ordeal four years ago.  I have seen her maybe once since, also at the Tavistock, and although I think she did nod at me on that occasion I had no expectation that she would engage in conversation with me if we encountered eachother again.  Perhaps it was the date that made her response today seem particularly heartless.  I know she noticed me, as I saw her scanning my face.  When I reached the bottom of the stair case (she was ahead of me on the floor below) she turned round to look at me again, and I said "hi".  That was all.  But she didn't nod at me, or smile, or do anything else to acknowledge the greeting.  She just walked away. 

It hurts.

I've been staying with my boyfriend for the past 6 days, during which time I have not cut myself or vomitted once.  I do however have to go back to my Mum's tomorrow, at least until Monday, and I'm not sure at all how I'll manage.  I'm trying to live very much in the present, and not let a moment's anger or sadness spoil the next.  Tonight we're going out for a Thai meal, and I know I'll feel safe at least until tomorrow night.  If not, the poster campaign I keep noticing around York may (with a certain irony) serve to remind me of why I should not hurt myself:

A visit to A&E costs on average £117 per patient, so Dr Lethem tells us.