So, here we are again. It’s the night before the second part of my long-awaited psychological assessment under my local Community Mental Health Team. I feel like this is the exam of my life, for which there’s been no lessons or syllabus; like I’m up for trial and, if I’ve not gathered sufficient evidence, I face a death sentence. I know this isn’t the case, rationally (there are no right or wrong answers, no laws broken, no-one with sterns looks or silly wigs), but try getting clinical anxiety to listen to reason. Unfortunately, scarring past experiences and other core parts of my illness/es serve to reinforce the anxieties, leaving me in a vortex of panic and despair, getting sucked further and further in, until the last vestiges of sense have vanished.
Even when logic is applied, the decisions made tomorrow will have an enormous impact on my life, health and hopes: receiving the right psychological input and me being able to engage appropriately is going to be key in me getting a rein on my own personal demons – everyone agrees. This is (hopefully) the first step of many – although not the first time I’ve tried to take it – and the one that picks the path.
Good job my Hope* is here to hold my hand while I wait.
*my beautiful kitten