I really have nothing to say right now. I still have the feeling that I have been run over by a bus, still feeling like curling up in bed for the next 6 months, still having no desire to do anything/see anyone. Hell, I haven't switched on my phone for 3 days, never mind actually called anyone.
I don't know where this came from. A week ago things were really starting to look up, then all of a sudden, "BAM". A couple of things did contribute, looking back...
I was living in London with a friend's family a few years ago. I was working with a treatment team, had my friends nearby. I wasn't doing "well", but there were concrete plans in place to help me move forward. My dad (who has always been opposed to "treatment" and thinks I should just sit in a garden and be healed by nature) persuaded me to move to Scotland and live with him. I knew that there were/are VERY limited treatment resources in Scotland but he assured me that *he* would take care of me, that his wife was a dietitian who would stay at home with me, that we would eat together, do things together- set up our own "care plan" to avoid another inpatient admission. I stupidly agreed. Packed my bags and left. It became obvious pretty early on that things weren't going to work out for lots of reasons. My dad worked long hours so was never home, his wife and I didn't get on so the atmosphere in the apartment was horrible, never mind "healing". I didn't know anybody, didn't connect with the therapist I was assigned to and regretted moving, but going back to London at that point wasn't an option. So I stayed. Within a few months, I NEEDED to get away and focus on my recovery which was when I went to New York for treatment. Whilst I was there, it became apparent that I would be there longer than the anticipated 3-4 weeks. I couldn't give a date for WHEN I would be back, and my dad, out of the blue, called me in the hospital to say he was selling his apartment, moving abroad and putting all my stuff in storage. His reasoning was that he was retiring and needed the money from the sale of the apartment to live off. I understood this. I wasn't happy about it, knowing that if/when I returned, I had nowhere to GO, but it was his apartment/his money/his choice.
Fast forward to now. I am staying with my mom, in the storage room of her apartment. It's also my brother's room. He is away at college so doesn't need a big space since he's never here, but the room is filled with his and my mom's stuff (I have 2 small suitcases in the sitting room behind the sofa and have gotten rid of most of my things because there was nowhere to put it). I am in the process of registering as "homeless" and applying for "supported housing" (ie, a shared house with 7-8 people who struggle with mental health problems, mainly psychotic illnesses- been in one before and they are SCARY places to live). On Friday night, my older brother came for dinner and just happened to mention that my dad is coming at Christmas, having bought an apartment in the city. The plan is for my older brother and his girlfriend to live there and pay rent to cover the mortgage until my dad moves back.
I am so angry and hurt about this. I don't understand why my dad sold his place with such urgency, making out like he desperately needed the money, and now less than 2 years later has bought another property (which I am 99% sure was more expensive). I am angry that I gave up EVERYTHING I had in London to live with him and believed his lies. I'm angry that he has put me in this situation of being "homeless" without accepting any responsibility for that.
Most of all, I'm angry with myself. I'm 26. I should be working full-time, living with friends/by myself and not relying on my parents at this point. But I am. I'm just angry and hurt by the situation, and there are so many unanswered questions. None which I feel I have the right to even ask, never mind get answers to.
Wow, that was long.
So yeah, that was on Friday. Saturday morning was when I woke up and things had "changed".