Recovery

This is one of a series of posts about a breakdown I had in 2010.

The first post is here.

Did you know, in Darlington, they have a train made from bricks?

By August, things have started to improve without my really noticing.

After a while, I realise there is nothing saying I have to stay at home all the time. I visit friends in Oxfordshire, Cardiff, Darlington. I see people I have not seen for years. I do the tourist thing. I get drunk. I spend hours upon hours on trains, reading books, listening to my iPod and looking out of the window. I miss Group Therapy and the one-to-one counselling, but my opinion is that visiting friends is better for my recovery any way.

I continue to work weekends at the local pub, waiting tables in the restaurant and garden. It's too hot and horribly busy on the shifts I work, but I enjoy it. The people there aren't really aware of what's been going on in my life, so they don't treat me any differently to any other weekend waitress. Once I am made properly redundant in October, I decide I will take on more shifts at the pub, and spend the rest of my time writing a book. I realise this is the first time I have thought about the future in months.

I begin to enjoy having enough spare time to be able to just go off on the spur of the moment. On the August Bank Holiday weekend, a friend comes to visit. We spend the evening drinking with my sister and another friend, then head into town and meet more people. The next day, with stinking hangovers, we agree that I will go and stay at my friend's place for a few days. I pack a bag, and we leave that evening. I spend about a week in Oxfordshire, splitting my time between two friends' houses, depending on when each of them is working.

This week marks some sort of change in me. I actually have fun; both when we are out drinking, and in the days that follow, just hanging about and not doing very much.

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