I’m fairly certain that I’ve written exactly this blog before, so if you’re bored with it, move along lil doggies <g>. Just saw the med dude, and came out feeling terrible. He retested me, and the score was exactly the same. He said "I feel like I’m not helping you," as if it was a challenge, like I wasn’t cooperating. He pointed out that I seem better. Well, damnit, I’m exactly where I had told him, I was, twice. I have more energy and hence, more ability to put on the fucking mask. But that energy also means I’m more present to the shit I need to deal with before I move on. Life HURTS right now. And no, I don’t want to medicate it away, thankyou very much. Been down that path, it’s a bandaid, not a solution. If there’s enough there to keep me totally from going off the deep end, and to curtail the hiding, that’s where I need to be. Fuck the insurance company and anyone else who wants to rush it. I’m not going to pretend that functionality without health is acceptable, just because it means that others can make ‘success’ next to my name and move on. If I’m willing to be present for the pain, then damnit, get over it.

Meanwhile, I’m still thinkin’ (hearing chuck berry sing that in my head). My future DOES look bleak, why in the world wouldn’t I feel a sense of hopelessness about it? Yah, the doc came back to that several times. Exactly what in the world does a chronic wounded depressive have to look forward to? How do I support myself without harming myself like last time? How do I find the space and strength to make the world I live in my own? How do I come to terms with who and what I am? These questions terrify me, and it bothers me that I have to bare those items to these suited professionals, whose only interest is in judging the progress, waiting for the day I’m off their hands.

We don’t get anywhere wanting reality to be other than it was, but some days, I really do wish I could find another way through.