Originally Posted by andromeda

I have just received the report from my most recent visit to the neuro. He suggests I have a schizophreniform illness or major depressive disorder.

My initial reaction was vague relief. I thought, Right. I'll be fine. It's all in my mind. I'll go back to work then. I went to the library and took out three books that I'd never read before, came home and tried to read them. I thought that maybe if I could read a chapter or two then I might be okay to work, that I could ease myself into it because a large part of my work consists of reading other people's work. I couldn't read for more than about 10 seconds at a time and I wasn't taking any of it in.

Then my eyes started to hurt as usual and I've been in tears all afternoon.

For a moment I had this bit of hope that maybe I could go back to the way things were before, that I wouldn't have to leave the city I consider home and I could just pretend none of this ever happened.

But now I feel like, among other things, not only can I not do my job but that I won't be able to cope with the work at a farm I was going to stay at in return for room and board - i.e. the solution to my homelessness. The neuro said in his report that it is impossible to imagine me working in this state.

I don't know what's right any more. All I know is the symptoms I have and how awful I feel.

I don't know what to do. It seems ridiculous and unfair to ask for my job back, when I can't focus on a book for 10 seconds. It also seems ridiculous to condense my life into a suitcase and move 500 miles into the unknown for something that I probably won't be able to do anyway and could land me in further problems when I am asked to leave with a bad reference and nowhere to go in a place I am not familiar with.

I don't even feel like trying or "giving it a go" any more. I know I'm going to fail miserably at whatever I attempt to do so I might as well safe myself the bother. My life has become so insignificant that it really would make no difference whether I lived or I died. I am merely something to be observed, considered, speculated.

I wish there was a solution. I don't much care what kind of solution or how difficult it might be to achieve; I just wish there was some kind of light in the dark - something that might make it clear to me exactly what it is I'm waiting for.

I thought moving to this farm was the answer to some of that, but I think I got ahead of myself in terms of what I am realistically capable of and tried to convince myself that I didn't mind doing it.

I used to tell myself, "but this" and "but that" but I've run out of buts. I can't think of a single thing I've got left to try or a reason why there's any point in continuing with the legal side of things, except to have my life ripped into by psychiatrists, history coming out that I don't want to think about let alone make common knowledge. I don't care about the money. All I want is my life back and no matter how hard I wish, that's just not going to happen.