Broke down today.
Lots of tears. You know, the can't-go-on type.
Had an appointment with the Art Therapist.
I'd had to cancel last week's and the week before's because I just couldn't get away, couldn't leave mum on her own.
Today was easier; she wasn't too bad today.
At the session, it all bubbled to the surface, and how, yesterday, for the first time, I felt I couldn't go on.
But if I killed myself, I thought, what would mum do then? Or the cats....
Luvbug, I figured, in the twisted, mirror-think of suicidal thought, he would be ok, he's strong, he could sell up and head to Ireland and his family........ and then yesterday on the news there was a story about a young family found dead in their home. Suicide was mentioned, but not official yet. How could he have taken his wife and children with him, people asked. And I knew how. I knew how, I knew why.
Then I knew I had hit the floor and needed help.