Fred was really persistent and demanding. I would fall asleep in his parents conservatory, and even in his room I would sit on his seat and flake out. I needed the medication but they had sedative. I asked him to give me nights to myself so I could chill and listen to music or catch up with TV. He would turn up anyway. He told me to stop listening to some of my music, because he listened to a lyric: bury me, bury me, I am finished with you. He was saying that my rock music would make me ill again.
We went to the pictures one time and he went to grab my hand and I took it away and he started acting like a parent : how dare you make a fool of me, next time you will hold my hand. I never really opposed him because I was depressed. Out of work and out of friends and parents who wanted nothing more than to wash their hands of me.