I finally started to unravel today, starting when I turned up for my art group, expecting to find the usual five or so people sitting round a table, each doing their own thing, chatting a bit, with a CPN also painting, but keeping us safe too. Instead, there was a fucking art teacher, none of the regular people, just strangers, all standing up experimenting with different brushes on massive sheets of paper. I know, you'd think this was a good thing, having a proper teacher, and it was in the end, but honestly, I'd been hauling myself along for days, aiming at that safe seat at that friendly table and not finding it was the last straw and I'd burst into tears before I could stop myself. The CPN was there and she came straight over, reminding me that this session had been booked and agreed, offering me alternatives if I couldn't join in. But I gathered my wits together, apologised to the teacher and got stuck in. It was OK, but I was unnerved by my reaction.

After that it went downhill, though we don't need to go into it all again. Apart from, when I discovered in the pet shop that I really had lost my purse, it wasn't hiding in the lower reaches of my bag but was actually not there, I was on the point of giving up, just not even trying any more. I dragged myself back to the cafe on the London Road (busy street, loads of pedestrians, loads of rough sleepers, poundshopland), where I'd sat at an outside table for a coffee, and my purse was still there, with all my money and cards still inside. So that was nice, though it left me proper fucking frazzled.

Things that have been pushing me towards the edge:

1.As soon as we came back from the festival, H got some steroids to halt his MS episode. I say "some steroids", but this is an industrial quantity and I don't know why it isn't known as chemotherapy, as it's a massive chemical treatment taken for therapeutic purposes, with significant side effects. He's got a five day course, and the effects change day by day. For Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday he has been very bad-tempered, flying into a rage over anything at all, like me saying, "Morning, hoe's it going?" This is a common steroid reaction, and it's passed now, but it's been really hard, all crammed into a small space together, especially as it's so unexpected - he's Mr Mellow by and large, easy-going as fuck. I have seen him angry, but only with good cause and rarely. Having been attacked in the past several times by angry men, I don't like it at all, it makes me feel physically sick with anxiety to be around male anger, and this is in my home, but what can I do? He's ill, this behaviour is not within his choice to control, so I've to just suck it up - well, I don't have to, but that is my choice and it's HARD, for all of us. Still, that phase has passed, now he's at cold and glazed over, looks like he's wandered in from some rave, sat on the sofa with his hood up, wrapped in a blanket, staring into the distance. His leg's started to get better already and will continue to do so and he'll be himself again in a few days. Fuck MS.

2. The A27 is open again so I'm driving over the site of the plane crash on a daily basis. The police are still gathering stuff, we don't need to think about what, from the southern side of the road, next to the airport, so one westbound lane is closed off behind a big temporary fence with a 40mph speed limit in effect as you go past. It feels disrespectful to drive over the spot where so many people died, there's a jolt of shock and grief every time as I approach, but what do I do? Go and sit on the coast road for hours, for the rest of my life? I did that twice this week, and it's crap - different, lesser crap but it lasts ten times as long, more even. The A27 is open, traffic is using it, I'm having no impact on anyone but myself with the choice I make, but still.

There was more, but I realise it's half one, so I must abed.

I am grateful for: Son, asleep on the sofa downstairs; YD making dinner tonight; GS being visibly cheerful and chatty - about the preliminary work for his Psychology AS Level no less; an afternoon nap; a sleeping cat

Sweet dreams xxx