A Harrowing Day

A Harrowing Day

Since early this morning, before I actually woke up, my phone was going off with text messages. Apparently, the bus that I take was having problems. It was late, real late. So instead of waiting till my appointed time that I was going to take the bus, I decided to catch an earlier one. Soon as I hit the square, there was traffic galore. No wonder the bus was late. I thought the problems cleared up by the time I finished with my appointment but it didn’t. It was ten minutes late and there was an elderly gentlemen with severe arthritis that couldn’t get off the bus at his stop without assistance. I have seen this gentleman before and it’s painful to hear him groan at every move. I feel for him as I know what that is like. This caused the bus to be further delayed while other passengers were helping the man off the bus. I don’t understand why he travels alone. He should have someone with him.

My appointment went well. I met with my psychiatrist and couldn’t help but cry a little. At one point, I thought I was surely going to breakdown but I didn’t. We were talking about how depressed I am about the TG stuff and how my writing is affected by the depression. I also told her my taste buds are off. She sympathized with me because I can’t drink my coffee without it tasting like crap. Everything tastes off. Even the Doritos I had with my lunch didn’t taste right, and they were the spicy kind. I am very depressed and get annoyed quickly.

I finally got in contact with the buyer of my Otterbox. She still has not received it so I told her it is at a post office in her area. I gave her the tracking number so she can track it. I should have used UPS or something and will next time. The Post office is just not reliable.

I woke up in pain again this morning. I thought I would have to walk with a cane today, the pain is that bad. I took a pain pill when I came home because while going to CVS, I misjudged a step and my foot came down hard on the street. That hurt! I still need to pick up my niece but not for another hour and a half from now. I hope the pain settles down some. It is the same type of pain that I have been having the last three days. My psychiatrist asked me about my physical pain and I told her it has been fine so far, not causing me psychological trouble like it usually does. But I fear that if this continues, it might cause me problems. I forgot to tell her I made an appointment with the physiatrist. I’ll be seeing her next week so I will tell her then. She said she wishes she had a magic wand to help me. I was comforted by that. It just kills me that my heart is being torn in two, one for good, the other for death. I told her that I am trying to stay away from plans and stuff but it’s difficult as I already picked out a date. I still want to try my idea, but I didn’t tell her that. She asked if I would be okay for me to walk out of her office. Took me a couple minutes to respond to that. I felt like telling her my idea, but I held back. I see Bozo next week so we will be talking. She also wants me to keep her in the loop more, not just for my writing. I told her ok. Now I know she is worried about me.

Last night I wrote something that I will be blogging soon. It is about the love/hate relationships of therapy. I would have finished it last night (I hand wrote it) but I got too sleepy. I was exhausted from dealing with my father yesterday. I slept pretty good, until my phone kept beeping. I should have shut the ringer off last night but I don’t think of it. Course, I wasn’t expecting 12 text messages from the T either (public transportation system).

Last night I was telling my therapist that I am going to nix the “Darkness” story. I don’t think I can publish it knowing it is so depressing. It’s one thing to publish it on my blog, but a book? Who would want to read it?? I don’t know what to do. My therapist says to leave it and I told her that I am sending her the link to the blog so she can judge it. And she has to judge it as unbiasly as possible. I can never get her to be critical of my work. Course, anyone that reads this book/blog never judges me critically. Maybe it’s me that is judging. I don’t know, it’s just frustrating that I am horrified by my own writing!