...I think I am "getting over" (whatever that means) the way I have been treated by my old CMHT, the complaints department, the Trust Board members of BLPT.
Then I realise I am not.
My mind scours in circles, looking for reason where there is none, seeking clarity in cess-pools of obstructiveness, dreaming of explanations and apologies from people who have no compassion.
They force me back into childhood guilt, into insecurity and fear. Then they drag the rug away and I fall, toppling, crying, beating my head against the wall of their indifference. They see my need and despise it. They ignore the expert voices speaking against theirs. Childhood revisited in so many aspects.
My arms show my chaos, while my words remain controlled and articulate. They label and categorise me, refusing to accept that I am not one, I am many, and that my many is fragmented and failing.