My Poor Lisa

Lisa arrived in a blue pick-up truck. Her car having failed its MOT. But it wasn't the fact that she had to drive a truck that was upsetting her, it was her mother being sectioned.
Lisa's hands held mine as she unravelled her story.

Her Mother has been seeing a man who wormed his way into the old lady's life by helping her change her water purifier. Since that day she has gone to his home to clean it up and generally be a good egg. He introduced her to his solicitor friend and told her that he was single, she, that's Lisa, has since found out that he is married.
Lisa was beside herself as she trimmed my hair, her non-stop talking the sign of a woman unsure about what to do.

She said that when she visited her Mother in the psychiatric hospital the 69 year old went white when mentioning the deeds to her house. Lisa couldn't get her to elaborate so she has an appointment with her Mothers's bank manager to 'talk' about the deeds of the house.
I felt so sorry for both Lisa and her mum, having been through the hell of watching a loved one lose who they are. In other words, watch as someone you'd give your life for, has a nervous breakdown.

The silence which comes with mental illness only causes more stress for the people looking on. Because unless the sick person talks nothing can be done. Mental illness comes in many forms but whatever form it takes, the person in the hospital bed, or the person staring out of the window has to know that there are people in their midst who know and understand what is happening to them.

For a person to go into themselves, thereby severing all contact with their families, friends and health professionals, is to load hell upon hell. But the hardest thing to do for someone dealing with depression, anxiety or paranoia is to talk. And that is the one thing they must do. However long and arduous the journey, the person on the bench in winter or the person undressed and unwashed must find a someone to whom they can empty their heads.

After she'd finished my hair, I told Lisa she could come and talk to me if she needed to, Sometimes an outsider is better than family.
She said she would, but I very much doubt she will. Dealing with this kind of illness takes a lot out of people both physically and emotionally so I don't expect my hairdresser will call a customer. Albeit her favourite one.
But I've been through it all and so I had to offer.


So today has been wildly interesting.
Dancing to keep fit.
Baking to put on the pounds.
Trying to concentrate on a story for publication. Yeah yeah yeah...
Having my hair cut and in so doing feeling lighter and brighter and even more spirited.
Looking out at the garden itching to get my gravel down.

Cooking tonight:
Chicken pie, peas, creamy mash, gravy, mustard.
For pud: Pineapple with butterscotch sauce.


Ta ta