Standing in the kitchen

I told one person. Not my mother, not work. One person, and only because she asked me a direct question at the right moment.

A first entry structured like a memorandum.

Nothing has happened yet, which nobody had warned me about. I think I expected to feel something immediately, and instead I made a cup of tea and put a wash on.

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.

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

Duly noted.