Monday, 29 June 2015

More Meds

I had my routine appointment with my GP last week, and it didn't take long for her to ask the dreaded question.
     "How are things going with the mental health nurse?"
     "I didn't see her last week."
     "Did you go yesterday?"
     "I don't have another appointment."

Time seems to drag out, and she takes a deep sigh.
     "We need someone like her on the team."
I can't answer.
     "Is there a reason why? Is she not talking about things you can connect with? Or is she too confrontational? Is it just getting used to going somewhere new?"

I am tired. I don't want to talk about it any more. It's an effort to force each word out.
     "It's either talking about nothing, or being told mum's tired of me. I leave each appointment more upset than I started and it's just not worth it."

She was going to call the MHN to talk about it, and asked me to make another appointment. She thinks we should talk more about what she meant. I really, really don't want to talk to her about it. I can't.

My GP still thinks she's 'the one' for me, but I'm not so sure.

She took my blood pressure three times, waiting for the machine to 'warm up'. I hate the way she's angled the screen away. She tells me about a dress she needs to replicate for her daughter. It's been a month and I still haven't researched patterns.

     "Have you been properly hydrating yourself?"
I said I was pretty sure.
I didn't say I'd already had a 1.5L by our 9am appointment.

Then the subjects of meds came up.
     "What could I ideally do for you with meds? Not specifics, but I want you to have a think about it for your next appointment."

That's easy.
I don't want to be on meds that don't have an effect (e.g, Gabapentin, Useless Antidepressant #2). Seroquel and Lorazepam had an obvious effect when I started, but no antidepressant has. Maybe we should start from scratch with a clean slate. I don't know. I want antidepressants, but I also don't really believe they can help any more.

But I did blurt out that I need something to help me sleep, and more-seroquel-less-mirtazapine wasn't doing the job. I told her how, some years ago, I was on Temazepam up until they made me hallucinate, and I never touched them again. I wasn't too keen on trying them again, but she seemed to think it was the best option.

     "Did you think about what we talked about last time, with the house?"
    "It doesn't help."
     "I thought maybe you could sew-convert the house."
     "It doesn't help."
Keep calm. Don't scream. It's nearly insulting that she thins a few cushions and new curtains will help at all.

     "And mum's offer of moving is too scary?"
Yes. She has offered, several times, to sell the house and move. No, I don't want to.
     "You know, if it was coming up, we'd be able to support you with it..."
Silence. I'm so tired of talking.
     "I just want to get you out of that house... I really don't like it, from the stories I've heard..."

There's an awkward silence in the air when I get home after appointments. Mum will sometimes ask a couple of questions. I am quiet. I don't want to talk any more. I'm exhausted and stressed and I just want to hide away in the darkness and silence. 

I didn't tell mum I needed antibiotics or temazepam or another appointment with the MHN. 

But her office called the next day to make an appointment, presumably after my GP talked to her. I really don't want to see her again. Mum answers and checks with me, saying she wants both of us there. 
It's not happening. 

Both scripts sat on the floor of the car for days. Until yesterday, desperate for sleep, when I asked mum to please get them filled. 

I can't say I really wanted to try the temazepam again after my last experience. I was hesitant, to say the least. But with my sleep lately, I didn't have much choice. I've been waking every 2-3 hours, with my mind running in dreams and nightmares even when I do get to sleep. 

Both my GP and the chemist said to try half a tablet first, but my GP wasn't sure if they'd cut. The pills were tiny, so I took a whole 10mg at dinner time. 

Thankfully, I made it through the night without side effects, but still waking every 2-3 hours. Still up at 4am. 
Well. Shit. 

I'm going to try another one tonight and see how it goes. Today has been hell, at the worst point mum threatening/offering/begging to drive me to hospital. It has not been good. I just want to sleep. 


Wednesday, 24 June 2015

'I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?' - Ernest Hemingway

I didn't see the Mental Health Nurse last week. The morning of the appointment, I had a breakdown, followed by a moment of clarity.

Each appointment has been more upsetting than the last. After what she said last time, and how distressed it made me, I feel like going to the appointments poses an active risk to my safety.

I know I need someone. I need some opportunity for things to be able to get better. But I don't think it's going to be her.

Until then, I know I really need to be good and pick up the self-help Mindfulness resources the last MHN recommended me, which have been sitting collecting dust for months now.

A couple of days before I had my fall, I had a routine appointment with my GP, though forgot to write about it amongst the chaos with that and the disastrous MHN appointment.

As we approached her door, she explained she had a medical student sitting 'very quietly' in the corner to observe, if that was okay. Already on the verge of tears, I just shook my head, apologised, and said it really wasn't a good day. She escorted said student to the nurses office while I lurked in the hallway. I always feel like a dick when I do that.

She asked how my sleep was going, and I told her I'm having a lot of nightmares and waking 2-4 times a night, sometimes every two hours.
     "How did the lower dose of Mirtazapine work out? Did it help?"
Time to bite the bullet.
     "I stopped taking it."

It's probably been a good two moths since I stopped completely. I did not cut back as slowly as I should've. She was surprisingly okay with it, because I didn't think and still don't think they worked, and I don't feel any different since stopping them.

Four years of taking that stuff, even though I've said from the beginning it did nothing.

     "Is it worth looking into new antidepressants?"
     "I was thinking of talking to the mental health nurse about that."
     "No, I'm the prescriber."

I thought that was the part of the point of having a mental health professional on board. I've always been told there's only so much a GP can do, even consulting with a psychiatrist on the side, and that I'd get more appropriate meds when I can see someone myself. My GP even dangled it as a carrot, that if I saw this new MHN, that she was also a registered nurse and able to prescribe meds. Well, so much for that.

I'm seeing her again this week. I think she's looking more into 'sedating antidepressants', as opposed to a separate antidepressant and a sedative. I miss my Temazepam, but they started to make me hallucinate. I just want an appropriate antidepressant and an appropriate sedative, not just whichever one fits both criteria. I know I should probably tell her this, but I'm worried it'll come across as medication-seeking addict behaviour.

Then, I don't know what gave her the thought, but we started talking about the house. She thought it must be contributing to, well, everything.
     "It can't be a nice place to be."
     "And I'm too afraid to leave."
It's not even my home. It's mum's house, my crime scene. and I feel more and more like I don't belong.

She started asking if I've tried redecorating, but it doesn't help. I spent years carving my bedroom into the perfect space to reflect who I am (one day I must show you guys photos), but I still can't sleep in it. No room in the house is truly safe.

Trying to encourage me, she told me a story about a patient she had, who upon moving out, had no choice but to furnish his new apartment with the furniture of his abusive mother. It was causing him quite a lot of distress, and so she told him to go to an op shop and buy a cheap, gaudy, brightly patterned tablecloth, one that his mother would've absolutely hated, and use it to cover the table.

Unfortunately, not everything can be covered by a second-hand tablecloth.

Redecorating doesn't help, but she just kept going on about it and suggesting I try it. I'm already planning to re-paint the office/studio soon, before I get get my sewing cabinet and desk set up properly, but beyond that I don't want or need to redecorate.

I forgot to mention it last time, but when I did last see the mental health nurse, she said she'd spoken to my old MHN the day before.

In case you don't remember:
Her funding was cut earlier this year, and she had no choice but to change jobs. Our last appointment ended in a breakdown, but it was okay, because she'd said she was going to call me in a month or so and organise a time to catch up for a cuppa. I never heard from her again, and it left me feeling quite negatively about the whole thing.

So, what happened?
Apparently, instead of calling me/mum, she called my GP to check in on how things were going. My GP told her I had an appointment scheduled to meet this new MHN, and so she got the impression that it'd be better/easier/less stressful/less confusing/whatever, to just leave things unfinished. Never mind actually asking me, or even mentioning it until 4 months down the track.

Now, I actually feel even more upset about it all.

Appointments are still a struggle alone, so I'm grateful there's not many coming up. I've stopped trying to talk to mum about it. She keeps saying it's for my benefit, even though I've told her again and again that it's not supporting me, and I need her there. That's probably one of the most frustrating things about it. I've gotten to points where I've screamed that I wish she'd just be honest and say it's for her benefit, not mine. It's okay, I get it, but just stop saying it's for my benefit.



Friday, 19 June 2015

Syrsha's Dresses

Some time ago, I started planning a couple of little dresses for one of the good friends I've made here on Blogger, Katie Elizabeth, who at the time was expecting a baby girl. Little Syrsha is six months old now, but I got there eventually!

I started planning these at the end last year, at the same time I started making the aprons. At the moment, nothing in life is quick. Eight months later, and the parcel arrived in the US earlier this week, and I can finally share what I've been working on.

I'm a little obsessed with the concept of sailor dresses, and this pattern was perfect for one. It took me forever to decide on just which color combination I would use. There are so many options with blue, white, red, different amounts of stripes in different places... But ultimately this is the one I liked the most, and will one day use as a basis for the me-size sailor dress I've had the pattern sitting around for for years.

Finding fabric is never easy these days, either. I have to find what I think I'm looking for online, and mum picks it up for me. I was lucky enough to be at Lincraft in Warrnambool before Christmas, where I picked up the perfect fabrics for the blue dress, along with the bulk of the supplies for the aprons I made, but nothing for the pink dress. I must've bought 3-4 'pinks' and 3 'whites' before I found the perfect baby pink pin dot print, and a lovely soft collar fabric.

Do not even ask how many new buttons I have in my collection that ultimately didn't fit the bill.

For now, I think I need to get back to a few projects I've left unfinished and get started on that pile of repairs before I start anything else new.

Anyway, here they are!

The colors didn't turn out quite right in the photos, but they've very generic navy blue and baby pinks. That's one bonus to usually sewing all black - you don't have to worry too much about lighting in photos.

Please excuse the loose threads/cat hair/wrinkles. I did go over it before taking photos, not that you'd know it by looking.

I'm really in love with how neatly this hem turned out. I finished the raw edge with a narrow rolled hem, then slipstitched it behind the white bias binding.

(apologies for the photo spam)


Wednesday, 17 June 2015

I'd be tired of me, too.

Okay, so before all the weekend's drama with my mysterious fall (which we've decided was either caused by low oxygen or blood sugars)...

I had a slightly disastrous appointment with the mental health nurse last week.
I go into each appointment telling myself 'it can't be worse than the last one', but it is.

Mum still isn't even really talking about appointments or her absence from them. It's kind of settled now, but for the first three or four appointments, I had no idea if she was planning to come in or not until I was collected from the waiting room.

This time, after not having come in to a few, she actually stood up too.
     "Do you want mum to come in?"

I don't know if the dietician had time to call her or not, because she didn't seem to know exactly what was going on. Maybe it was a coincidence and she was trying to get me to talk by myself. Maybe I just threw mum a look when she stood up.

Anyway, I filled her in on the past week's drama with regards to mum not coming to appointments, despite the fact it's more stressful for me to not have her there. I didn't get the reaction I was expecting.

She thinks that mum is 'tired of me' after so long. No, 'exhausted'.
She even went on about how, as a parent, she'd be tired of it too.

She went on and gave this big speech about individualisation, that when we're 16-20 years old, we separate from our families and get our own life and friends become more important and you start figuring out who you are as a person.

I've been there, done that, then AN came along and I lost it all.
I had all of that.

But as soon as she said mum is tired, exhausted, of me, all that flashed in my head was the Horrible Psychiatrist, when he implied I was a burden and should 'release mum from her role as carer' so she can have her own life. 'Release', like I was holding her prisoner.

Why is it so terrible to need a carer past the age of 16?

Mum says it's not true, that she's not tired of me and I'm not a burden.
But would she even admit it if she did?

Most of the appointment I was just in tears. It was utterly pathetic.

She offered to ask mum to come in, or to talk to her one-on-one at the end. No. Nothing makes me more uncomfortable than a one-on-one with me out of the room.

     "Is it making you feel worse to come in?"
     "I don't know."
     "Do you feel like you've not got much choice?"
What a stupid question. Even after I started seeing her, my GP couldn't resist reminding me that she'd had me 'on contract' to start seeing the MHN before Easter, and late-May is not Easter.

She suggested maybe fortnightly appointments, but I just can't get through two weeks with zero chance of things getting better.

I was so distressed after that appointment, and I didn't know who else to talk to, so I made an appointment the next day to see the dietician.

Mum and I's relationship may be deteriorating. But the dietician and I's relationship is building back up just as quickly.

I was already on the verge of tears when she called me in, my name said with notable surprise.
     "I'm sorry," I said "I didn't know where else to go."
    "I figured, when I saw you had another appointment, that it was either something really good or really bad."

I told her about the appointment, what she'd said about mum being tired of me. It was nice to just talk to someone who actually gets it. I couldn't even remember anything else the MHN and I talked about. The dietician asked, but everything was just blank.

I apologized again for coming in. I know it was probably wrong of me, but I was desperate. But she said to come in any time, and no charge for today.

She walked me out to the waiting room, and mum was gone. She'd said she was popping around to the chemist, but she should've easily been back. This was not the day for being left alone in the world.

She walked me out to the car, which was unluckily parked down the street. Even walking 3 or 4 car spaces down the street is terrifying, let alone when I'm by myself.

She wasn't in the car. I ended up sitting with the dietician in her office for a few more minutes, until mum re-appeared and the girls at the desk told her where to find me.

The dietician had asked me to journal each day, just a short little something about what happened or how I'm feeling, and bring it in on Tuesday. Apart from the general fears of letting someone read my journal, I ended up spending all my time catch-up journalling about appointments and the fall.

And I did see her yesterday, black eye and all. Last Tuesday she gave me the goal of having just one supplement through the week. And I did - a 164 cal Ensure the night before I saw her again. Honestly, I'd rather just stick with the lower intake than tag on an extra supplement.

But now she's going away, and I won't see her for the next three weeks. I have one appointment with my GP, and whatever happens with the MHN, but I can't say I'm much looking forward to it.

There is a lot of tension at home, with this sudden change in dynamics with mum and appointments. It bubbles to the surface, threatening to explode whenever I have an appointment.

It's not worth it. I'm tired of crying. I'm shutting off.

My black eye started to come up yesterday, and the bruise on the bump the day before. I'm guessing tomorrow or Thursday will be the worst of it, but I'm doubtful it's going to be very photo-worthy. I'm still nursing a nasty headache. It wasn't too bad for days 2 & 3, but yesterday and today it's been back.

My appointments for the last week and a half (Tue 9th - Thu 18th) have looked like this:

GP   x2
Dietician   x3
MHN   x2
Weekend GP   x1
Ambos   x1

(+Pathology   x1)

There's still a lot to say, but this post is long enough, so I'll try to post again soon.


Saturday, 13 June 2015


In the early hours of this morning, I woke up to find my mum and brother standing over me, looking quite concerned, my brother on the phone.

I jumped, not knowing what was going on. I had actually been awake for a while. Mum had heard me in pain and come into the lounge room to find me on the floor, clutching the coffee table, hyperventilating with a golf ball-sized lump on my forehead. My brother was in the process of calling for an ambulance, and I panicked.

I moved out to my armchair, and the ambos were here within 5 minutes. They checked my OBs and had a look at the lump on my head.
    "Can you tell me what month and year it is?"
    "August... 2005."
    "No... It's 2015. Try the month again."
    "Not quite. It's June."

After that, they definitely wanted to take me to the hospital. I asked if I could go to the private A&E, but they said they weren't open that early, and I would have to go to much-feared public hospital, home of the Horrible Psychiatrist. That was the first time I had any idea what time it was. Still dark, I thought it was about 2-3am, when really it was just shy of 6am by this point.

After agreeing to go to A&E or at least see a GP once 8am rolled around, I had some painkillers and they helped me back inside to make sure I could walk properly. I stumbled and had to sit halfway, and they pointed out that my not going straight to hospital in the ambulance would be put down as a 'refusal'.

I went back outside for a smoke after they left. By this point, I was feeling a little less out-of-it, and started re-tracing my steps to figure out how I ended up on the floor with a huge lump on my head. I realised that the TV & Wii had been on in the background when the ambos were there.

The first minutes of my morning usually go like this: turn on the Wii, go to the toilet, check my weight, make a coffee, go out for a smoke.
(I know the Wii isn't accurate, but I've actually been finding it comforting in a sense; not knowing my exact weight, while still monitoring it closely for changes.)
It wasn't until later that I vaguely remembered waking up and feeling really dizzy while walking to the toilet.

I went to have a look inside, and saw that the Wii Fit was loaded and mid-way through the weighing process. The controller, instead of being on the coffee table next to me during the weighing process, had flown halfway across the room. 

Apparently, I fell while standing on the Wii, hit my head on the edge of the TV cabinet, and fell over grasping for the coffee table. I wasn't responsive until after my mum and brother had helped me back to the couch, at which point I thought I'd only just woken up.

At 8am, mum called the GP clinic to see if I could get an appointment and avoid having to go to A&E. They're open for a few hours over weekends, but they only have one doctor working. I had my fingers crossed it was either my GP or my childhood GP. When mum told me it was one of the newer, younger male doctors, and asked if that was okay, I just said
    "I don't have much choice, do I?"

So I went in to see him at 9:15. Given I wasn't the best witness for what happened, plus it being a male GP I didn't know, I asked mum to come in with me and she agreed. We filled him in on what happened. He felt around my head, checked my eyes, OBs, all of that sorta stuff. He didn't think I needed any scans done to check for fractures or brain damage (always amazing, given my head is probably my main self-harm outlet), and we started to talk about what the hell caused it.

He suggested low blood pressure, although it's been fine lately. He thinks it's unlikely I had another seizure, but to keep an eye on me today just in case.
(So far, so good.)

I said I thought it was maybe my oxygen levels. They were okay when the ambos checked my OBs, but fell after they left, and have been lingering close to danger-zones lately. He asked if I felt like I had an infection, and I told him I really can never tell until I see my GP. He listened to my chest and noticed a lot of noise, but wasn't too sure as he doesn't know what I'm like normally.

He told me to take the stronger painkillers for my headache, and gave me advice for extra puffers, telling me to make an appointment with my GP for Monday to see if I need more antibiotics.

He also said to expect a black eye in the next 2-3 days, after the swelling reaches its peak and gravity takes it's toll (it's on the side of my forehead). This will be my third black eye, and the only one that wasn't entirely self-inflicted.

Since the dietician on Tuesday until now, I've had five appointments. 
After my GP on Monday, the dietician on Tuesday, and both the MHN and dietician again on Thursday, it'll be 9 in just over a week. 
I think that's some kind of record for me.

The last few days have totally disappeared between appointments and trying to regather my thoughts on them, and then this morning's fall. I'm going to try to seriously crack down on catching up on commenting/reading and replying to emails and such in the next few days. I love you guys; I promise I'll always get around to it eventually.

Apologies for any typos, but there's so much going on lately, I had to post about it today despite my frazzled head.


Tuesday, 9 June 2015

Fuck the world, I'm going to Mars

Even though the dietician and I haven't been on the greatest of terms lately, she's been a big support to me the past few weeks.

This morning would be the perfect example. When we got there, mum, who usually comes into appointments with me, announced at her office door that she was going to sit outside because she 'doesn't contribute', and went back to the waiting room.

I got in and broke down on the dietician.
"She didn't say anything before?"
"How do you feel about that?"
"Pretty hurt. We were just talking about it yesterday, and I said I only still needed her in appointments so I have someone to talk to afterwards, because I can't remember what we've talked about, but if I can't talk to her after appointments, she might as well not be there. So her not coming in, is her saying 'you're not going to have anyone to talk to after this'."

It's kinda of a long story, but basically, last week mum wasn't around to talk to after another bad appointment with the MHN (more on that in a moment), nor has wanted to talk about it since, so it's all been swirling around in my head all week. It erupted yesterday in an all-day breakdown. I told her I needed to talk to her after appointments, and needed her at the appointment so I didn't forget what we'd talked about, but if I couldn't talk to her afterwards, there wasn't any point in her being there. I don't need her in appointments at 22 years of age for support or to rub my back or to 'contribute'.

So what did she take that to mean? That I'd rather not have her there at all.

I told the dietician all this, and rambled to her about the MHN appointment. I'm leaving each appointment feeling worse than I did before. Everything she talks about is so pointless, it isn't even 'getting to know you', it's just painful. I can't even remember half of the crap she talked about. I don't think I said more than one word at a time for the entire appointment.

I just felt, still feel, devastated. I was actually half-optimistic about these appointments at first, because I'd at least have a mental health professional on board again, but now? The depression is so strong, and she's supposed to be the one who can help me, but now I just feel more hopeless. I need actual therapy or even new meds or something, but it just seems so far off it isn't even funny.

She'd also offered to organise for me to catch up with the old MHN to say goodbye properly, or at any time in the future. I just said 'no', but inside everything was bubbling up. She was going to call and organise a catch-up months ago, but never did. She didn't have to say she'd even call, let alone catch up, but she did, and that's what made it hurt even more.

"Maybe that would be a good place to start," suggests the dietician "if she says something that makes you feel upset, or angry, or anything really, just spit it out - 'I feel pissed off', 'That makes me upset'."
Sometimes I really wish she was a therapist, not a dietician,

She also asked if it would be okay to get the MHN's details, and get in contact to suggest that tomorrow we talk about my mum's not-attending appointments, since it's obviously bothering me a lot, and I'm incapable of raising subjects (or talking much at all) with the MHN. I really don't know why opening up is so hard when blogging is so easy.
I umm'ed and ahh'ed, and eventually said okay. It can't be worse than any other appointment.

It wasn't until near the end that we talked food and weight. Right now it's easy to talk to her about everything but, and my replies reduced to nods and shrugs and single words. I told her I haven't had a supplement in weeks, and so she set me that goal of having just one in this next week. Unfortunately, I'd only really have them on days where I really hadn't had enough cals and/or my blood sugars dropped, but now it's hard even then.

She gave me a hug on the way out. To be honest, it's less alone than I've felt all week.

Sigh. I really didn't intend for this post to be so much bitching about my mum. You guys know this is unusual. Unfortunately, it's just been framing my appointments.

On a lighter note, we lit the chiminea last night, which is perfect with winter setting in. We haven't had an open fire in two years (mum 'banned' them when I was diagnosed with COPD and Bronchiolitis Obliterans).


Tuesday, 2 June 2015


Tomorrow is appointment #3 with the new mental health nurse.

Last week was hard. Appointments are becoming more and more of a push. But what else am I going to do?

She started out asking more of the generic getting-to-know-you questions. How often I see the GP (monthly, plus as needed) and the dietician (weekly) included.
"So what do you and the dietician talk about? What sort of foods to eat, your weight..."
and I got majorly uncomfortable and just said
"I don't feel comfortable talking to her (or YOU) about that stuff right now."
Hence my crisis as to the point of attending appointments in the first place.

She asked if something had happened to damage the trust. I nodded. She seems to get that part, at least.

"Well, it's good to see you here again. Well done on getting here."
"You're not under threat to be here... Mum's not threatening you, is she?" she jokes
"No, but the GP is."

"What do you want to get out of seeing me?"
That damn question again.
"I don't know."
"I guess I want to get to know you, what you do, what you like, what makes you happy..."
I wanted to cry. Nothing makes me happy.
"...and I want to be here for you to talk about how you're feeling, what's going on in your life, who you love, who you hate."

Eventually Mindfulness came up, which I did a little bit of with the last MHN. She asked if I was still doing it. I shook my head. She started asking about what types of mindfulness we did, and I'm just completely clueless. It's still all new and confusing to me. She was going to try to contact the old MHN and find out what resources she uses.

"Does seeing me again make you feel like it's lasted so long, you might never get better?"
I don't need her to make me feel like that.

She was saying that she thinks mindfulness is a good place to start. She doesn't want to focus on the ED since it's the focus with the dietician and GP, which is fine by me.
But my head was about to burst. And then she started asking questions about Billy and Misty. Mum answers, but I'm on the verge of tears. It's all too much and I want to jump and bolt. So I do.
"I have to get out of here."

Honestly, I can't stand the getting-to-know-you phase. Pictures of pets. It seems to pointless. Doesn't that just happen along the way? If I'm stuck seeing you, I don't want to spend the time talking about hobbies while my head is trying to kill me. It frustrates the hell out of me.

So I really need to try to speak up tomorrow. Nothing is okay. Each day is too much, and there's no break, I can't even sleep more than 2hrs at a time. I know I need to tell her how bad things are, to get some sort of a plan on board, but how do you open up to someone you really don't know? Everyone's expecting miracles because I've seen her before, so obviously I should be comfortable with her, but clearly it's not going to work that way.

The dietician's been really nice recently though. I think since my epic breakdown a few weeks ago when my GP had to come in and help calm me down, they've started to see how bad things are. I cried on her again this morning. She kept asking about how weighing myself at home was going and calories and what foods I've been eating (as dietician's have a bad habit of doing...), and I just cracked.

She asked if it'd be best to not ask any more questions, and if there's anything else we could talk about that would help, but really there's nothing.
"Did you not want to come in the first place?"
"Do you think it'd be better if you didn't come?"
And I just cried harder.

She said she thinks it's good for me to get out and have the social contact, even if I'm not able to talk. She even offered to come over for a cup of tea if I can't get out, which I thought was really sweet.

It's taken me all week to get my thoughts together on such a short appointment. God help me if I actually speak up tomorrow.