Post Paris, as always, is a terrible time and it takes me a couple of weeks to get over the mooning about and come crashing back to the realities of living in Southampton; the caged feeling that I don’t get in Paris, even after only four days away, is difficult to come to terms with again. I mean I should be used to it, but tasting that kind of freedom, even briefly, make you realise exactly what it is that you are missing out on. Staring at the same four walls day in, day out simply cannot compare to the vistas and thrills of being able to walk freely around such a beautiful city.
Then came a couple of unexpected events that in and of themselves were upsetting and stressful enough, but agoraphobia made them a lot less manageable.
Firstly, my Dad has been unwell. He’s been ill for some time but suddenly got worse when his stent failed. He was taken into hospital and heart surgery to replace them. The surgery went well and he said that he felt a thousand times better within minutes. This is all good news, but I feel I should have been there to support both him and my Mum. I can justify not visiting by any number of means. I don’t have a car, if I did, I wouldn’t be able to drive it as I haven’t passed my test (or even taken lessons) then live 200 miles away, I don’t have money for trains, etc.. But when it boils down to it, I feel completely impotent because I can’t leave the house on my own and I couldn’t really ask Andy to take three days off work. I’m fairly certain that I’ve asked that enough over the last couple of months and I doubt there are any days left from his holiday entitlement.
The Andy started showing some alarming symptoms meaning he had to go into hospital for a tough series of tests. This wasn’t quite so bad as being an outpatient, we could go together. But what if he needed to be kept in? How would I cope getting in to visit? Would I even be able to visit on my own? I concluded not.
Have you any idea how devastating a realisation that is? How selfish it makes me sound? And worse yet, how my brain has conspired to make my Dad and Partner’s illnesses about me, not them?
I know, rationally, that it’s not my fault but that doesn’t make it any easier when you are incapable of supporting family. There are times when I truly hate myself because of this.
Anyway. New Year. New Start. I will fucking beat this.