I have been in my new home now for a week and a half.  I’m sleeping on the sofa because the bedroom is full of boxes, and I have the radio on a lot.  I can’t have the tv on at the moment because I have to find my Freeview box.  I’d rather find it than buy a new one but in reality it might be like looking for a needle in a haystack, it could be at the bottom of a box that ends up going straight in the shed.  The nurses on the Assertive Outreach team have been helpful, yesterday they put my table together for me, so now I can eat sitting down instead of standing in the kitchen.

The gap in the kitchen for the washing machine is too small by 2 centimetres, so at the moment I am waiting for them to contact me to visit and assess the job to have it widened.  They have been making excuses about why they’re not getting in touch.  My Moving Forward worker has been trying to get them to contact me for about 3 weeks now.

I’ve been feeling ill and very lonely.  I was with other people in hospital for two and a half years, I’ve got used to being around people, even if most of the time I felt I was being bullied.  I’ve forgotten how to cook nice meals, and the kitchen is so small I have to close the kitchen door to get into the fridge, and there’s not much cupboard space.  I had to have one big cupboard with lots of shelving taken out because it was in the way of the fridge-freezer space. Gone are the days of eating in the kitchen, now I have to eat in the lounge.  There is really only room for one in the kitchen.  Whatever was wrong with my old flat, at least it was huge in comparison with this.

I left hospital with about eight big black bags full of stuff which are still sitting in half of the lounge.  At least as a bungalow there is no noise from upstairs, which is good, and so far the neighbours are quite quiet.  I wish someone would play some loud music, that would give me permission to do the same, at least occasionally.

I fell asleep this afternoon, and I dreamt that my grandmother was lying in bed behind me with her feet intertwined with mine.  I dreamt I thought that I didn’t want to lose her and thought about going to the doctor for her.  I actually lost her when I was 16.  I don’t remember I’ve ever dreamt about her before.  It seems like a huge coincidence that I dreamt about her on Halloween.  Tommy Boyd said that when pagans celebrate Halloween they remember the dead, people they have lost.  I was afraid that my grandmother had come to collect from the other side, and that maybe I didn’t have much longer to live.  Just because it is Halloween . . . .

I don’t know how to finish this.  I’m not a very good writer so I suppose the best thing would be to acknowledge that and just finish it here.

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