I’m sitting at the kitchen table typing this. I’ve decided that having a kitchen table is a requisite for any future house I have. As you can see I’m in a better mood today.

Last weekend was scary, so scary in fact that I emailed my consultant and asked him if I really had to go into hospital and if so, could I maybe go to Bristol where my family is? I just felt that being in a room all by myself could really send me over the edge. It might seem a bit far-fetched now, I mean, even to me it seems a bit over-the-top but I guess that just goes to show how much better I’m feeling.

In fact, sitting here writing this, even I can’t understand how last weekend I could hardly get out of bed because I felt so bad. How could I not have picked up all the rubbish on my floor? How could I leave my door ajar when there were other people in the house and they could see all the papers and magazines and recycling in my room? And how could I not have been up to speaking to my friend who I know would have made me feel better?

It was going to work that made me feel better so the thought of being in hospital away from work just seemed the most ridiculous thing to do. After all, there’s no point in giving my chest a super-boost if I’m going to be too depressed to do my meds when I come out. And as I’d waited a week or so for a bed, what was a week or so more? It wasn't an urgent admission. My consultant sent me a nice email back and I think I’m going to go in to see him and discuss things next week.