At this time of year I miss being nurtured and nourished by my mother. She gave me direction and enthusiasm that I no longer get this time of year, or any time of year. It’s incredibly difficult to put into words how small rituals like drinking tea had an invigorating effect even when I wasn’t doing the drinking. I miss the conversations, the myriad of communications we had about everyone. I miss the safety and familiarity of those conversations. I miss having a person around who got me more than I got myself. I miss being grounded to her

I struggle to understand myself. What is it I want? What do I want to do? What do I actually like now? What am I like now? I feel adrift with the questions, no sign of any answers or ideas. Instead of Mum I now visit a unit where community psychiatric nurses take me out for walks and social sessions. I have withdrawn so much into myself that small talk is hard work. I am learning to do everything again hoping this time it’ll be different and I will understand the moral of the story playing out with me in it.