Phosphorus tears

Just thirty-six hours into my homeopathic treatment and I can report that strange things are happening. I feel soft and soppy and angry and upset and tearful. All sorts of hurtful memories are hurtling out of their boxes where I stuffed them years ago.

It started with me trying to work in a cold room once again. Suddenly, sheer frustration at not being allowed to control the heating but having to wait until Mr Grumpy felt like putting it on spilled over into angry tears, followed by a sense of real injustice, then a great longing to have my own home again where I can put on the heating when I feel like it, such as in the morning. Whenever I have had my own house, I have always set the heating to come on at 7 am. Here, it is set to come on at 5.30 pm and not a minute before.

I woke at 5 this morning, my arms cold, my body just a little too chilly to allow me to get back to sleep. At 7.30 I gave up the struggle and got up. Mr G, wrapped in many layers of fleeces, was sipping tea at the kitchen table. It was grey and foggy outside. By noon, it was about 57F in my study but I was cold. My hands were icy. I started to feel more and more miserable. I needed it at least 8 or 9 degrees warmer to be able to sit and critique a manuscript in comfort. I rubbed my hands together, jumped up and down, drank a mug of tea, all to no avail. And then I had my weepy attack. But this is so unlike me that I am sure the homeopathy has started to loosen up my feelings, because with it came a rush of the sort of creative sensitivity that used to drive me to write poetry. If phosphorus can get me writing again, it will have been well worth the £60 consultation fee.