So it’s come to this. I have less than a week to go before my experiment in withdrawing from the world comes to an end and I was trying to evaluate how well it’s gone.
I’m definitely calmer now. I cry less often and often less intensely. I have managed to socialise a little – the occasional meal, a few drinks, cuddles with a brand new baby and a stubborn toddler – but mostly I’ve been alone and alone seems to work. Which is slightly worrying and equally impractical.
But as I was analysing the almost-month, I found myself pointing out to the emptiness that I have managed to shower and wash my hair every day. I presented this point as evidence of how well I’m coping.
And then I realised just how pathetic that is. I have been washing my hair and showering since my age was single figures without even thinking about it. I don’t think I ever congratulated myself for doing so, even as a kid. So this is what it comes down to, this is how low I’ve come – I’m proud of myself for being clean.
I complain incessantly about therapists infantilising me and, here I am, doing exactly the same.