I have been signed off sick for a month and Wendy is making my days as nice as possible; giving me space, giving me room to somehow or other recharge and regain whatever it is that is me.
We have just been walking on an old railway track to Aberfoyle that she found at Buchlyvie. We walked in the sun, bounded by fields and flowers and trees and I loved it.
Now at the Lama Centre, a cream coloured, massive and I mean massive, doodle retriever trots over to us and presses against Wendy. She is delighted. She cuddles him, he cuddles her. Two men pause from their hammering and sawing for the new coffee and sandwich stall. We are near Flanders Moss, somehow that sounds romantic. The men are kind; they are pleasant. They give us scissors. We look out at the field of sunflowers under a blue sky with hills in the distance.
The sunflower field has been going for three years; last year the crop failed. This year it is good.
The wide sky; the flat land stimulates Wendy’s visual vertigo; too much bright sunshine and wide, wide, expanses which is a pity as she loves them when she is not in them! She holds on to my trousers to anchor herself to the ground and we walk among the flowers. We choose five and snip through the stems. They are prickly. I am delighted. My hatred of life, myself, everything falls a millimetre or so away.
At home Wendy puts the blooms in a vase in our window. They look, for all the world, like party goers flushed and exhausted and excited after a rave; not that I have ever been to a rave.
Dash the dog, who barked for us from the car all the time we were in the sunflower field, pays no attention to them. He peers out the window looking for other dogs with the flowers hanging above his head.
Wendy is holding me above the water every moment of every day. It is exhausting just now. The salt stings my eyes. I want to reach behind me, draw her in and say
“Thank you.”
I can begin to imagine that one day I might feel like me again.
Wendy joins me when we pick the children up. Hot, so we have all the windows down. I go into Morrisons for whisky and non-alcoholic beer as I have promised to try to drink less; to get better sleeps; to learn to look after myself again. Getting back, Wendy is bored; asking when the children come out and how long we will have to wait. She frets, looks at the clock, grumbles. It is funny. She knows it is funny. James appears.
“Jamie boy” she shouts
He gets in the car, tells her to
‘Be quiet’ but in swear words as we are a sweary family. Well, I am not but everyone else is.
And says everyone can hear her because of the windows. Wendy, undismayed, says she came all the way to see him and he implacably tells her this will be her last time. She pretends to be hurt but doesn’t shout when Louie arrives. Louie has had a medium day at school. Neither child is inclined to talk on the journey home. Wendy comments on the long line of cars driving out of the car park. Going home, we; the grown ups, continue to misbehave and start neighing loudly and giggling. The children are not pleased. They try to shut the back windows but they don’t shut. We are told that the car is a crap car. They ask which house they are going to.
At their Dad’s, I say goodbye to them; Louie looks at me and says
“You are not even coming in?”
Wendy says
“Yes Graham; you listen to Louie!”
We get Dash the dog out the car. Wendy unlocks the house. Buddie the dog, the children’s dad’s dog, rushes and bounces and leaps about, as does Dash.
James locks himself in the gaming room and tells Wendy she is not allowed in. Dash eats Buddie’s food and drinks his water. Louie gives us all hugs. Wendy pleads with James through the door. We can tell he is smiling even though he is still swearing.
When I am back waiting in the car with Dash, Wendy taps on the games room window.
“Wendy” I say warningly.
Eventually it opens but it is Louie and Buddie who peer out. Apparently; James is already upstairs. Buddie is so excited he tries to jump out the window to see us.
Back at home we try to mend the car windows, practice all the things google tells us to do. It doesn’t work. I tell Wendy
“Of course it didn’t, it’s the fuse.”
I take it to Gary at the garage and hand over the keys. Just as I am about to change trains on the way home, Gary calls me on the phone to come back. When I walk into the garage he shows me a weird symbol on the dashboard, which turns out to be the one we have accidentally turned on to lock the windows.
I laugh at my incompetence. He refuses money, just as he did when he changed the broken light bulb last week.
At home Wendy is in bed, I go to my bed too. It is strange this need to sleep and sleep, this need to be alone. It is lovely to be in this family. Once, this time would have been desperate.
The blessing of a late lie, I wake with the shipping forecast and doze and wake and wish I am still fast asleep. Just as ‘Women’s Hour’ comes on the radio I stumble into the kitchen; bleary eyed. Wendy kisses me and says I taste of mint. She also says the fruit is packed, the plates and cups packed and all I need to do is put on the coffee. She also says delaying the first coffee of the morning is shocking!
I almost relent and we almost have our first coffee in the house but we agree the pergola is waiting on us. Bags packed, a trip to the Co op on the way to Geilston gardens. We buy pain au chocolate and caramel and pecan nut twirls.
At the garden the staff member recognises us and lets us through. One of the gardeners is in a group of people by trestle tables. He has always been lovely to us. I think here is sanctuary for him and here is where he does wonders for the world we live in. We talk and then we wander into the gardens. We giggle about fighting over the chairs at the small pergola if people beat us to it.
It is a magical romantic interlude. The wrought iron pergola, the mosaic floor, the two chairs and one table and all around us hydrangea plants; beautiful plants.
Wendy puts out the gold rimmed plates, the raspberries, the watermelon slices, the blueberries and the pastries and I pour the coffee. Then, with a flourish, she pulls out a small rose and places it in a vase she brought with her.
We tie Dash to the pergola, he lies down to sleep and we eat and smile. We say we should do this more often. I say we should be celebrating an anniversary, Wendy says we are celebrating Thursday and we might celebrate another Thursday if the fancy takes us.
I feel delighted, my heart is still in tears and I do not know why it has torn itself so, but it is also glowing with the generosity of Wendy’s love that stays with me even when my days are grey between the smiles and the hugs.
We walk slowly round the grounds beside the burn which is doing its best to be a musical instrument. It too fills my heart, as does the mossy path, the dapple of sunlight.
Later Louie asks why they have to be at school while we picnic. We promise to come back on a weekend with them.
I hate the music coming from the screen as I wait for my psychologist to arrive on-line. My heart is inside out with worry and sadness. I do not want to cry when she asks how I am. I fear I will.
She has a headache and has forgotten to fill her glass of water. It strikes me how terribly stressful her job must be. A succession of people like me all begging for routes out of desperation, most of us probably unlikely to find them. If they are like me they will be talking of devils and being disgusting and even if they don’t cry or swear they will be on the edge of it. I don’t think I could hear that lament day after day, month after month. It makes me realise how much I ask when I say the professionals in our life should bring love into their jobs; it makes me slightly ashamed.
I am not too sure what she means when she says it was much as she expected when we review how I have dealt with the thoughts I prefer not to have and the emotions I don’t want to have even more. I think I told her I had learnt a little but still tend to avoid my thoughts; they are just too painful. I think I might die if I let them have full control of me. It is easier to do my homework and then ignore the thoughts as best I can till next I have to put pen to paper for a session like this.
We are going to spend the rest of my time with her which I think is another nine sessions, learning how to deal with distress. This sounds good; diffusing distress. I wonder if I can ever do that when I peer inside where I do not want to look. But it does sound good.
I learn about recognising that a thought is only that; a thought. It doesn’t have to harm me; it will appear and eventually it will vanish. I do an exercise where I have to attach my thoughts to leaves floating down an imaginary river and see them float away from me ‘till I am no longer aware of them. I get stuck; those thoughts of disgust and evil and sadness sit on the leaves but only pile up on a log stretched across the river and it is only then that I realise they are still attached to me by black rubbery chords that will not let go.
I tell her this and say I need a real river as my favourite place is beside streams and rivers, losing myself in the whirls and eddies as they slip away past me. She agrees with me, so I put days in my diary to sit by the water with Dash the dog.
When the screen goes blank with a ‘left the meeting’ sign, I decide to clean the bathroom and feel sad all over again.
Later I feel sadder still – these sessions where I am held somehow safely amidst so much pain. I was told at the very beginning that this would not stop the schizophrenia, nor the thoughts, nor the distress but that it would reduce the hurt of it a little and maybe it does but I think to a year’s time, ten year’s time. Will I still be wincing at what I am? Will I still deny I am actually ill? Will I learn how to be happy despite the pain inside?
Louie has told me about her day. It is the end of the week and she is very tired and school was not the best, even the lessons she loves were pretty bad. She retires to her room which Wendy made into a wonderful fairy tale of a teenage girl’s room in the summer but when her Dad messages to say he will be with us in three quarters of an hour she comes down to see the rabbits.
Clover is in the old cage which is still quite a big one. Bonbon is in the end of the last compartment of the huge new cage we hope they will both occupy soon when they get to know each other in a kinder fashion than just now.
Clover is the new rabbit and is very friendly. She comes to sniff at my hand when I open the cage. She has black fur with a white band round her neck and front. Her fur is silky soft like warm water that you can hardly feel. She lets herself be lifted with no struggle at all and I talk to her as I take her to the open cage on the grass.
She hops around it and Louie climbs in and starts smiling. While I hang up the washing, Clover hops around, nibbles at leaves and grass and ignores her cauliflower leaves. She stands on her back legs to look out at the garden; she walks behind Louie, she climbs onto her lap and wanders again. I sit on the chair and we witter slowly about very little and Louie smiles more and I smile some more and Louie forgets about school and thinks about a friend she hasn’t seen for a while. I forget about my inability to feel pleasure and instead almost do feel pleasure. The world of social media and work and school and the mockery our world leaders make of decency and integrity fade away. There is a pigeon cooing, a goose flies over on its own and crows begin to return to their roosts.
I put water in Bonbon’s cage but as I am doing so, I bump into it and in a flash he disappears into his hay centre cage away from our sight. I put water and kibble into both their cages. I send a photo to Wendy who is at her festival, she replies;
‘ Ahhh! Gorgeous!!’
I ask James if he wants to come out but he is happy gaming upstairs. When Louie’s Dad arrives, the first thing she tells him is that she has spent the last half hour with Clover. She is full of joy when she says this. This seems a far better way of being a young teenager than it is for so many other young people. I do not envy them at all, though two years ago I was meant to be in court to give evidence about what a teacher did to me at that age, many, many, years ago.
Maybe there never was any safety for any young person. Maybe the innocence of the afternoon was an illusion but I think not; you can still have innocence when you know the bitter opposite of it. Maybe that makes it even more special.
Two days of reading, doing pretty ,much nothing. My visitors decided not to visit and I am sort of delighted. The meals are all cooked as I stocked up for when Martin would arrive. I do not watch telly. What a relief. I walk the dog, I spend a lot of time in bed. My brother phones me and I realise I am as taciturn as him with emotions and regret that.
If this were permanent, I could see how my life would belly flop, bed, sleep, reading, silence, avoiding everything, drinking too much, feeling as little as possible, thinking as little as possible. It is so tempting.
Today I go to Firkin Point with Dash the dog. It is a place I like. A road; the abandoned lochside road winding north to Tarbert. Wendy can’t go here because of the wide spaces again, so this, for me, is a treat. The car park is almost full. There are lots of families. Lots of Asian families, a few paddle boards, lots of dogs, one tent.
We walk north, the mountains across the loch fringed with cloud, but the green trees on their slopes still clear to the eye. An occasional motor boat powers past in the distance and much later the wash crashes onto the shore. I love this. We walk, Dash sniffs everything and wees on everything and poos frequently. He loves new places and new smells. I find a small isthmus bounded by two pebbled beaches. We awkwardly walk over the tree roots to it. I hope Dash’s thin legs don’t get trapped in a gap. The water laps gently, liquidly, melodically. It is so peaceful.
The rocks are full of the swirling patterns of past upheavals. They are dotted with ferns, trees tower above my head but safely. This is a spot to lose my thoughts to drift in the utter peace of the world.
I don’t lose my thoughts, my mind gets busy instead. I have nowhere to put them and I am not sure I want to or even if ever I can. I am not sure if I can even see my thoughts. I hate them so much.
It is much, much, easier to watch Dash realise this is fresh water and try to drink the loch.
Later; on an even nicer beach I find a ledge of smooth rock with a soft pillow of grass in it surrounded by flowers. I have given up my exercises and just enjoy sitting there with Dash looking up and down the long dark expanse of water.
Walking home, I wonder at thoughts that will not go, realise I am thinking more and more about thoughts I cannot set aside however trivial they are. I also wonder at those vistas when I say I have no thought, that I am just not in any meaningful way and how that can be relaxing and peaceful.
I wonder at my psychology exercises. I have a raisin exercise next time. I have heard of that one before. I wonder what I am doing. I do not want to inhabit the horror of when I need to die and I don’t think I will allow myself to and maybe I am not even able to just now. I can just sense it stirring far down in my guts, rumbling, warning me.
I wonder at my life; my pretty perfect life. Maybe that urge for something other was silly and maybe I do not even know what different to this could ever be. It has lasted forty years. It has its claws in me so deep I think I would not be me if they relaxed and set me free. I wonder if I need to change my expectations, if I need to learn to get used to this for once and for all. It will not change and why would it? I know what I am and what I do to the world and yet I also know how much people still love me.
Maybe I need to tone it down, learn to come to terms with this; that this is how it will always be. The trees will still be here, the water. the ripples and even the fretful wind. I could learn to drink the water just like Dash does. I could learn that I cannot change myself and that maybe that doesn’t matter too much. Maybe I could be kinder to myself. Maybe I could learn to live a little.
Up early as the children’s dad needs to be in work and so can’t drop them at school; so I need to go round and pick them up. It is easier to get out of bed than I thought. I heat up coffee, put a wash on, change Louie’s bed sheets and take her school clothes out of her clothes bin. Dash is excited to get out so early and barks even when he is in the back of the car.
At Tom’s, the drive is blocked by bins for the bin men but I manager to squeeze in beside his car. I never know whether to wait for him to come to the door, so I just ring the bell and walk in. James is dressed for school and brushing his teeth, Louie is looking for her phone. Tom is packing his bag and checking Wendy has ordered James his lunch. When Buddie notices me, he goes wild.
I sit on the sofa with him until it is time for Tom to go and me and the children to go. They are pretty happy and pleased when a slow tractor slows us down. As usual I can tell Louie really does and doesn’t mean it when she says she doesn’t want to go to school. James is whispering to Louie for most of the journey which is lovely because he doesn’t often do that.
At the school Louie tries to wait as long as possible before getting out the car, she says “Bye bye.” and “Love you” and James says “Bye bye” and “Woof woof”. As I drive away she gives me her usual half hidden goodbye wave.
At Ardmore the dogs recognise where they are going and start barking which sets off the dogs in the farm. I nearly collide with the Porters who edge their car into the road without looking and I get worried there will be horses on the path as there are young women in the horse field getting them ready. It is early ish and there are not many people. Buddie rushes around the place while I keep Dash on the lead. They are both fascinated when each other wees and often nearly get weed on when sniffing each other. When we meet dogs, I hold Buddie by the collar but everything is fine, the dogs are happy to see each other and if they aren’t their owners hold them back. It feels good to walk. I think on my call with Richard and think of texting him back to say I might be more open if we speak again. I wonder if I will be seeing Keri or not on Wednesday and her mum and decide to leave it to them to sort it out. I feel glad that I am walking. I feel glad of the breeze and the sea and the sunshine. I feel glad that Richard said many of his patients struggled with being off sick when they were still capable of doing things. I feel glad he encouraged me to do stuff and admitted some employers just didn’t get that you could do something enjoyable and still be off sick with justification but I still feel guilty and yet hugely relieved that I do not have to work.
Buddie nearly gets his wagging tail caught in the car door when we get back. I remember to put rubbish from the car into the, as yet, uncollected bins.
I put the washing out, put another wash on, fold the dry clothes, fill the dishwasher, cut tomatoes and peppers for tonight’s soup, have breakfast, put water out for the dogs, remind Dash that I am still in the house when he starts howling, have breakfast. Feel proud that I have been busy all morning, hear from Wendy that she is on her way home.
And then I stop, it feels too much. I go to bed. The dogs curl up on the bed too. I realise I am already dreading going back to work. I want to write but more than that I want to lie down and do nothing at all.
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