Every day after losing your child is the longest day, particularly when your child has died by suicide. It’s about the number of hours of excruciating pain.
I don’t have to see the other Paul, I can feel him stood on the other side with intent in his soul. He’s patiently waiting for my weaknesses to let him in.
I needed someone to give me a hand and understand me, but the very thought of that terrified me. I was silent too long, but now I’m done being invisible.
I told the hospital psychiatrist, ‘I’m fine, I’m glad it didn’t work’, even forcing a smile. I was lying. Luckily, I was sent to a secure psychiatric unit.
I could be having an ‘Okay’ day, everything plodding along nicely, then I suddenly turn into Demon Woman! The Switch in Borderline Personality Disorder.