I see my psychologist this afternoon luckily. Despite the fact I'm 25 I still give a damn what my parents think...the feeling I owe them for what they endured--and continue to endure--in regards to my medical and psychiatric history is very deeply ingrained into my twisted psyche. I tried to bring up the subject of disability with my father--I must have been out of my mind given previous conversations. He seemed to ignore my...stupid ridiculous pathetic anxieties (that's pretty much how I have come to see emotions I experience) when it comes to being around the public. I get so panicky when time is a factor (like a line at the grocery store). Forget driving--I haven't managed to get my pathetic butt to that point yet...I see my fur babies and think of how my brother said he loves me and try so hard to hold on. My parents have been through enough sh*t with me. It would be better for them if I was gone. They wouldn't have to worry about me, they would have the opportunity to focus on their other kid--the one who deserves their affection. I see people who die young from cancer (my cousin's wife for instance), a car accident or some crazy circumstance and think I'll go for them. They want to live, I don't...I've been seeing current my psychologist since February of '14 and--like I told her during my last appointment--I've been dealing with psychiatric docs, therapists and psychologists since I was a kid (EMDR then emotional release sessions) and I've only really trusted a select few therapists 99 percent. One was a male psychologist--I never thought he would come to understand me over a woman. Thankfully my current doctor also fits into the trust category.
I broke down–quietly–as I purged my emotions and finally feel like my brain will slow down therefore allowing sleep to commence OR the sleeping pills the sleep doc gave me are kicking in…the written directions said to take one pffft it did nothing…2 pills still nothing…3 FINALLY! Heavy eyes, slowed down thoughts, and slightly more relaxed muscles will hopefully be the sundae needed to get stuff done before I have to prepare, brace and begin to dread the 60 hours when spontaneity knocks predictability unconscious.