Down across the bottom of the garden I can watch a neighbour's forthysia about to blossom. The snowdrops are yesterday's news and so are the crocus. Today's star is the purple pulsatilla. The birds are very busy and my two elderly cats watch their hectic activity with envy. There are tiny dark leaves sprouting low on the valerian plant which must send out a strong message as cats in all shapes and colours come and rub their noses in it.
Last night was rotten. A heavy hand has been pressing onto my chest. Many times I woke with my mouth wide open and dry as a brick, gasping for air. There was no real sleep. Fear of suffocating.
Today is bitter. The roaring in my head howls out, the vice has been turned even tighter and my heart struggles along irregularly. My head is so very heavy and my teeth are chattering. I am nauseous. My hope is for a deep sleep tonight but I fear I'll jinx it if I write this.
This morning instead of breakfast I took down names and phone numbers of female psychosomatic experts within reasonable distance and phoned about 10, one after the other, looking for an appointment. This was urged by lovely Dr F yesterday. I left my name and number on numerous answerphones, got a couple of sorry-we're-full messages back and two appointments for next week of which I have to cancel one. And I have to postpone the ENR appointment again. I hate having to make these calls.
It's hard enough trying to get there.
It would be so great if someone could help me organise all this. It is such hard work.
Then again I try hard to convince myself: You are not as helpless as you think. You are stronger than you think you are. But it's hard. I want to fall back into a deep sleep for a long long time, switch off my mind and only take in glimpses, short presences, no more thinking please ever.