We planned this holiday months ago. My mum, L, her sister and me. A walking holiday in a beautiful place. Last year, Mum and I had a similar break, and talked lots about L and how, with her love of the outdoors and her joy in life, would love to walk with us. So, we booked, six months ago, when life was different and walking up mountains seemed like the best thing we could do, a fabulous time together.
Now, with the warning of the doctor that L isn’t really well enough, we set off, with mixed feelings, trepidation and fear, but perhaps some hope that away from her surroundings L might feel like someone else. She doesn’t make herself sick away from home, apparently, it would be really weird to make yourself sick in a friends bathroom. Another rule which makes no sense to anyone except her disordered mind. But a good one, which might keep her safe for a few days.
And the walking. At the moment we are on a gently rocking boat, L and her sister chatting about TV and the impossibility of Buffy defeating the final apocalypse with blow dried hair and make up. In a while we will commence the sensitive navigation of lunch. L has asked about the food of the country we are visiting, she is still curious and perhaps that will make her eat. Or will every meal be tense and difficult? Can anything change her now?