Well that was quite the shit-fit I threw yesterday. Sooo embarassed. Was going to delete my account *gasp* But didn’t. At last, a small piece of reason prevails.
I blame the therapy on Thursday. How many therapists does it take to change a light bulb? One, but the light bulb must want to change. It dug up all sorts of ugly. By my outburst I’m willing to bet, issues of abandonment (noooooo!) and issues of self-worth (ya think?)
My homework is to tell her ‘what made me tick as a child’? Not what made my happy. What made me tick. I don’t understand the real difference. But being as a psychologist is a person who will tell you what everybody already knows, in a language nobody can understand, I guess I’ll just have to figure it out. I see her again on Thursday. She’s actually quite nice.
“Doctor,” said the receptionist over the phone, “there’s a patient here who thinks he’s invisible.”
“Well tell him I can’t see him right now”
I’m off Trazodone. Don’t nobody ever mention that filthy unmentionable to me again. And I took 50mg Espiride and a Rivotril this morning. I am just dandy. You see! Back with a bite of sarcasm. It definitely is a side effect of Espiride. But sarcasm means I’m beginning to fire on all cylinders again, kinda, so no complaints here.