My little baby boy passed away on the 15th. He was two years old, not bad for a critter with a shelf life of 3 years maximum. I noticed he was breathing funny and when I picked him up out of his bin he was ice-cold. I warmed him back up but his breathing got worse and he died in my arms. I've never cried that much when a person died as I did for that rat. I'd had him since all my troubles started and he'd always been there for me. I'm thankful that I was able to be there for him when he went.

Of course the stupid OCD tried to make it out to be my fault that he died, and for a couple of days I was guilty and miserable as hell, thinking I killed my rat. Did some stupid shit that I regret, namely cutting the crap out of my legs. It's been a hell of a long time since I cut that much or so deep, and I hope it's a hell of a long time (or better yet, but unrealistically, never) 'til I do it again.

I'm on 200mg Anafranil now and though my OCD has backed down a little, it's still big and bad. I've been depressed as fuck too. It always amazes me how self-loathing and suicidal I can get on a huge dose of antidepressants. Ain't it meant to stop those feelings? Why am I payin' out my ass for meds that don't do anything? The Klonopin sure helps though. I don't notice the Zyprexa doin' too much, but I get that for free, so hell, I'll take it.

I'm applying for Disability but it's tooth-grindingly difficult, especially since I can't talk on the phone, go anywhere by myself, or keep my shit together enough to sit down with a stranger. I got on food stamps and general relief, though, so starting in December I'll have that, at least.

Therapy is going so slow you'd think I was a snail. The patterns and belief systems in my head are so twisted and deeply entrenched that even saying something like "I deserve to be happy" makes me choke. My belief in good luck and bad luck and divine punishment and inherited guilt is just a big thick wall in the way of any light shining through. I'll give it to my therapist, though, she's tougher than me and I have faith in her, if not myself.

It's bad, real bad, but I'll survive.