Bad.

[smokingboot]

The gasman just turned up to check the meter.

I of course had no idea where it was, so let him into the house, confused. He said it had to be outside somewhere and we found it, all is well.

But he's a big tall man and I suddenly felt PTSD style anxiety hit me hard as I led him to the back door, because he was right behind me. How could I have let myself get into such a situation? And suddenly I was frightened.

But he was pleasant enough, did his job, went. I am sitting here now writing this because it removes me: I am not this feeling, at this point and for this purpose I am not even the person who is feeling this. I am whatever stands behind the human struggling with fight/flight impulses, I am that which urges the written form, and divorces Smokingboot from whatever it is she is writing about. This is a symptom of my disassociative fugues returning, and raises its own set of alarms, but right now it's useful. It helps me think coldly. It pointed out all the things I could do, all the options I had. My stupid moment was very stupid but over quickly. It's about being aware and not letting the same situation rise again.

Or, to quote counsellors and psychotherapists, it's about accepting that there is no problem with the man being close behind me. Of course there isn't 9 times out of 10. It's akin to a genial acceptance that sleepwalking is better than sleeplessness until you somnambulate off a cliff.

How could this turn up with such sudden vehemence?

A downturn of mood due to Brexit and accompanying stuff possibly, the knockback re the document, and a sudden tremendous sense of fatigue that hit me yesterday. But of course, one never knows if the onset of Depression causes the exhaustion or vice versa.

I don't self-medicate, I try to think my way out. It's good to have that option, a lot of people with these issues really don't. I'm fine. I'm here and fine.

But I am done with serious writing today.