Sat in the car park of my ED treatment place sobbing my heart out. No, I haven’t even gone in to therapy yet – I’m crying because I’ve just seen my GP.


She is pregnant, and something isn’t right with the baby, as she’s been off a lot and she will definitely be leaving earlier than usual to have it.

This means she is leaving me 4 months earlier than she PROMISED, 4 months earlier than I’d prepared for, and because something isn’t right, she might even leave earlier. I might not get to see her to say goodbye.

G was such an amazing support this summer, she practically saved my life during the few weeks where I wasn’t seeing T and I had just finished uni. She is totally different to any other GP I’ve ever had – she’s funny, engaging, she just wants to listen and fix problems; she isn’t fussed about the time limit of the session or whether I’m actually ill. No, she listens, she praises me for my strength and she sends me out the door with a strengthened heart.

Last summer, after an awful session with an NHS mental health person, she sat in my car for an hour, holding my hand and hugging me whilst I poured out every fear and emotion and body sensation I was experiencing. She is just that kind of person.

And now she’s going.

And the baby is sick.

Just like I dreaded would happen to R’s baby.

I wish I could believe that it isn’t my evilness that is responsible.

I wish she wouldn’t leave me.

Little’s heart hurts.


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