28 Nov

You've been accused of committing a crime. You know you're innocent. You've only got one chance, one short window to prove it.  So you prepare for it. You research, you take photos, you write it all down checking the notes from your diary, you check with others that you haven't missed anything. The big day arrives, you feel sick with nerves. Your appearance, your demeanour your behaviour, every word you speak,  can all be used as evidence against you. As you sit, waiting for your name to be called, your anxiety increases. Suddenly you hear your name, it makes you jump, you walk into the room.  The faces look kind enough, but you've been fooled before, not this time.  The interrogation begins. You provide evidence, while simultaneously trying to understand the real meaning of the questions asked. There it is, the disbelief, you knew it was coming. You start to panic, you've done it wrong, why can't they see what's right in front of them? Why can't they see that you're not lying? The internal battle is becoming worse. You're running out of time to convince them of what you know to be true,  of what you know to be real. Suddenly it's all being wrapped up, you haven't convinced them. Look at all this evidence you plead, but It counts against you. You must be obsessed to have collected actual evidence.  They have a resigned, kindly look on their faces, as they usher you out. Gradually, you  start to understand  some of the sneering and passive aggressive remarks which were made against you. You wished you'd said all kinds of stuff, but it's too late now. You remain guilty, and the crime you committed, hypochondria... apparently. The court room was a consultation room, the judge... a doctor. There's still no justice, they tell you to make an appointment for six months to make your plea, again!!

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