I so badly want to write. I'm full of ideas but then I forget them as I'm too exhausted to jot them down and my memory isn't what it once was. This 2 weeks in the caravan was supposed to be partly for me to finish Poisoned Minds. I'm desperate to. I printed out the rest and was in awe. Did I write that? Was I that good? My comprehensive plot notes make no sense to my foggy mind. Then BK's anxiety is thru the roof but I'm too exhausted to handle her properly. Her stress and fear comes out as aggression and I'm just afraid of her and I cry. Then my country has changed. All my case fics, the whole series, are rooted in a multi cultural, multi ethnic, multi national, open, tolerant, and accepting place, the most mixed and anti racist in the world. Turns out half the population were pretending. I want my country back as much as I want my mental and emotional spoons, few as they were, back. Apart from the very painful pinch hitting with BK's script and plot notes on her Women of Morse, I've written nothing for nearly a year. I tell I lie, I started a SF piece, which when BK came home and interrupted and would let me finish my thought, and the pieces inspired by the Peter Grant books, which no one has read on here, so I assume is shit. So, although I'm desperate to finish Poisoned Minds, and Bk wants me to, as do the 1000s of readers I assume, I'm too afraid. What if I start and BK becomes demanding of my attention/meltdown/falls/blackouts and I just lose it? What if I write then turn into a gibbering wreck later on in the day due to loss of mental spoons? What if I'm shit now? Or people are ooc? But I need to write. Since I lost J as a carer, had flu, had the seizures, dealt with BK's PIP, struggle to sort house, been a victim of 3 hate crimes now since the referendum, I am going crazy with stress. There is no me time. But there is also no meals cooked or a clean or tidy bit of the house - we eat rubbish and live in mess and chaos - and essentially my daughter is a mess. Nearly 3 years of vertigo but mostly that fucking PIP phone call and form filling and Atos assessment followed by mummy going crazy dealing with the appeal has undone all the progress we've made with home education. She is anxious about everything, can't cope with most things and is deeply depressed about her lack of exams and opportunities. She was in and out of the JR the week before we travelled, for stress, sleeping and the an ambulatory EEG. The glue has pulled out some of her hair. But basically, this should have happened over 2 years ago. Or more like 4. Then the symptoms would never have got that bad. But the lies from the social worker led the original referral dismissed as my anxiety, not even hers! Funny how all her GP and hospital notes from June 2010 to July 2012 and Oct 2010 to Nov 2012 are completely missing! Still makes me so angry. And we're still paying the cost. It was my birthday yesterday. A big one. I got 4 cards, slightly less that half of my facebook so called friends and family posting on my wall and 2 of you lovely flist sending me good wishes. Nothing from my daughter as anxiety stopped her going out without me and vertigo stopped her baking a cake. But the thoughts and love was there. My only rl friend in my neighbourhood didn't even post on my fb wall. I sometimes think the last 3 years of extra ill health with both of us and the horrendous stress of trying to get any support, whether disability benefits or actual care in the home, has turned me into a horrible person no one likes anymore. I'm not sure I like me anymore. So, sorry for being a dreadful friend and for not writing, if you're waiting for me to finish. I can't insert a cut, but if I could, I'd tell you who did it. It's bananas, really.