They say when the going gets tough, the tough get going. I'm definitely not very tough at the moment. I received a letter this morning from the company that is responsible for the maintenance of the pipes that supply gas. They need to replace the mains gas supply pipe and possibly the pipes to properties. I know it shouldn't upset me, but the thought of them digging up my garden and having to be without gas has me in a complete panic. If Mike was here I know what he would say, but he isn't, and I have to cope alone. I can't do it. I can't do anything much these days. I am scared of everything, and no one understands when I try to explain why. It doesn't make sense to anyone except those who have also lost their partner.
It comes on top of a whole series of small, stupid things that I should just be able to laugh off, but can't. Instead of having my sensible head on, I have one that sees danger and disappointment at every turn. I am trying, I truly am, but even the telephone counselling, the first option where I live, has turned out to be wrong for me. After the first telephone call, which I struggled through despite my anxiety, I was sent a booklet and told to keep an hourly diary of my anxiety. I can't remember to put the milk in the fridge not the cupboard, never mind try and analyse why I am anxious and then say what I could do to stop it. "What stresses do you have in your life right now?" I have f***ing lost my soulmate, I'm living off less money than the mortgage payment so that's in arrears and I have no one to help me with it all.
I want to be a tough cookie, but instead I'm a digestive at the bottom of a tea cup.
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