I have started

A brief account of the week.

The leaflet is nine pages and about seven of them are worst cases. I have read it three times, which was three times too many, and I am now going to stop reading it.

What I keep coming back to is how long it took me to get here. Not the medication — the asking. Years of that.

Day one. I am writing this partly because somebody else's day-one entry is the reason I felt able to do it at all, and it seems only fair to leave one behind.

So. First one done. I had been carrying the box around the house for four days like it was something I had borrowed and needed to give back, and in the end I did it standing up in the kitchen with the radio on.

I want to write this down before I forget how frightened I was, because I suspect in three months I will not believe it. Twenty minutes of standing there. Then eight seconds. Then it was over and I felt faintly ridiculous.

More when I know more.