Every now and then one of the many cogs that drive the NHS moves a little and something happens. A letter from my psychiatrist for my files.
In three short paragraphs, a summary of my last appointment and further details about my referral to the GIC.
I was feeling pretty good after work yesterday. I met my wife in town, we went for a coffee. I remember thinking as I walked, that the girl had quietened down a little in the afternoon. Then the letter on the doormat on our return, and suddenly the next forty years stretches out in front of me. All that lies before me is this.
One day at a time.