Watford. Between doses, between jobs, between plans, which I wrote in a jokey way in 2024 and which has turned out to be an accurate description of an entire year.
I stopped in March. Money, mostly, and a job ending, and then honestly a stretch where I could not organise anything at all. I did not tell anybody here. I deleted the app off my phone on a Sunday because seeing everyone else’s Thursdays felt unbearable, and then eight months went past.
I am restarting on Friday. Prescription in hand, prescriber who knows the whole history, all of it above board.
And I have written this post four times because every version of it sounded like an apology. I keep wanting to explain myself to you. I have a whole paragraph drafted about why the eight months happened that reads like a note to a headmaster. I have deleted it twice.
What I am actually braced for is somebody saying welcome back in a tone. You know the tone. The one that means we noticed you went. Or worse, somebody asking, kindly, what I have learned, as though eight months of a difficult year were a course I was on.
So I am posting it plainly. I stopped, I went away, I am starting again on Friday, and I am frightened of the first injection in a way I was not the first time round, because the first time I did not know what I was signing up for and now I do.
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