Today I just feel bad. Bad in the bones. Bad in the brain. Bad in the blood. I’ve had a bath and gone back to bed. I’m in hiding from my life. I’ve been trying to tell myself all morning that I can handle things, that it will be ok, but I’ve had to accept that it’s not. Maybe tomorrow, but not today. So I’ve made myself a mug of Ovaltine (I have no food in the house and the shop’s not going to happen) and I’m taking lorazepam and I’m going to survive this somehow. Because that’s what I do. (And the sneering, jeering voices are starting up again now. Oh what fun.)
I have an appointment with Dr B in the morning, but I can’t, at this point, see myself being able to manage a bus into town. I’ll have to text him. I was only going to tell him that I didn’t want to see him any more anyway. I think it’s been a useful experiment, it has clarified things for parts of me, and seems to have provoked others, and proved to me that I can pursue private therapy if I need to, but I’ve decided to stick with my psychologist for as long as I’m able to see her. She knows me, and she knows about my situation, and I (and others) know and like her. I just need to work out why I felt so bad after our session last week, because I’m confused by that. And I’d like to know when therapy will be ending, and can she/will she see me longer than a year because I need to prepare myself. I’ve been trying to write her a letter about both these things, but the letters keep turning out sounding rather desperate, and I’m being accused of being negative and manipulative and all sorts of other lovely stuff. Maybe when this lorazepam has kicked in I’ll try again.