It was a sunny afternoon, as it became clear: The investor pulled out of the project. We needed an additional 4 million Dkk to keep the company going, and he wasn’t comfortable investing that kind of money. We were free to look for a new investor, but that was not an option. We had fought all we possibly could. The three of us went to C’s house. We drank beer, cried and told old stories from the company. It was a worthy ending. We had done all we could.
As we were closing down the company, PC said she couldn’t help me to the extent I needed. She wanted to find a better solution. She promised me I wouldn’t be hospitalised, I promised her I wouldn’t get a job right away. It was such a relief. The boils in the wallpaper were getting worse and I didn’t sleep well. The snails kept the level of anxiety up during the day. At the same time it had become really difficult being outside. I felt like I was pulling the weight of the buildings, when I was walking, like there was cling film in front of me, I had to push. I was scared that I was walking funny. I wished I was invisible or not even there. It was exhausting not being able to trust in what you were seeing, if things and people were really there. I knew nobody else were seeing snails or boils, but they were real to me.
PC had some bad news. The first treatment facility she had contacted, rejected me. They didn’t even want to see me. Now she was trying another facility and because it was at the same hospital, where I had been admitted, they had to see me. My father took me there, he was in the waiting room working, while they they were showing me around, telling me about the facility. You had to show up everyday! I got tired just thinking about it. I wanted to go home. They gave me a 50 pages long questionnaire, I needed to fill it out and send it back to them the next day. I was speechless. It seemed like an insurmountable task, but I got it done. Now all I had to do was cross my fingers, or … I really didn’t want to do this. The bike ride across town to Nordvest alone, seemed unmanageable, but I knew I needed help and had to do what needed to be done. They couldn’t help me, I was too sick. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. PC had one last suggestion, OPUS, but she questioned whether I was too old. I wasn’t and they could meet with me soon. I had a good feeling, but I was afraid of getting my hopes up.
A national strike among the nurses got in the way, and spring turned to summer before my interview. Even though I was in Sweden, building a terrace, I went home to Copenhagen for 24 hours to go to the meeting. I was desperate to get help. I was going to meet with nurse LA and doctor JH. During our conversation they told me they could help me, that I fitted in there. I was happy. When I got home I googled the place. I purposely hadn’t done that before. ”In the OPUS-team we are working with early tracing and treatment of young adults with psychosis.”. I didn’t know how it had happened, but that was where I fitted in. That was where I could get the help I so desperately wanted.