Wrong kind of bee

Yesterday I saw a moth-like creature flying around my kitchen and I grabbed it to let it go outside. Well, it wasn’t a moth, it was a little bee. And it promptly stung me on one of my fingers. Immediately, I remembered that I used to be kinda allergic to bees and wondered if this bite would kill me. I waited about an hour and a half, but the only symptoms I had were some numbness of my hand and a little wheezing. So, I thought “fuck it” and took a hit off my inhaler, an antihistamine, and went to sleep.

Fucking PDW fairy. Is that all you got? Pathetic. Doc.


Don’t worry

Therapy has been …weird lately. After my declaration of intent (suicide) the previous week, I obviously didn’t succeed and decided to go back again. He never brought up the subject, in fact, I can’t remember what we did talk about. But, I was very anxious and only lasted about 30 mins., sitting in mutual silence for 15 mins., so I left about 25 mins. early. At one point he said “is there anything you want to talk about?”. I honestly considered the question, but my brain could not find a single thought to bring up. I tried, I really did but nothing. Blank. Made me more anxious. As I handed him my Visa card to pay, so I could escape, he said “has Wolf been active?”. I could not say anything. Really? Ask me that as I’m trying to get away?

So, at yesterday’s session, I had decided that my goal was to at least stay the entire time – talking or not. Luckily he didn’t bring up my early departure before or my inability to speak. However, he did ask a few questions about Wolf’s activities of late. I told him that I had cut and had swallowed a few items at Wolf’s insistence. I told him that the last time I cut I let the blood run down to the floor – I was in the bathroom – and that I used the blood to make little wolf paw prints on the floor and that Wolf had liked it. D asked me what I had swallowed and if they had caused me any problems. I told him no. Then Wolf chimed in “Strangle him”. I asked D if he wanted to know what Wolf had just said. “Yes”. “He told me to strangle you”. “Is that because I ask you questions about him?.” I thought about this and told him “I think he just wonders if I could. Don’t worry, I won’t strangle you.” As I said this, I noticed I had crossed my arms tightly in front of me, as if I was trying to resist the urge. I honestly don’t thing I would, but I’ve had a few fantasies picturing me trying.

I’m probably not the first person who has considered/fantasied about killing their therapist. Right? Being questioned about a touchy subject? Just kill the questioner.

Don’t worry, I won’t strangle you.

Later last night, I found some frozen brownies in the freezer. Perfect, chocolate always helps. After the first bite, I noticed my brownie tasted funny, then I remembered (ECT) that I had made a batch of pot brownies back in the winter. Slept pretty well last night. At least I have something to help with today’s crap. Something yummy and packing a punch. Good thing, my lungs need a break. I’m still convinced pot is the only reason I’m still alive. The only time I feel even remotely human is when I’m stoned. It really does relieve some (a lot) of the anxiety and slows/focuses my head somewhat. I hope Maryland will soon join the other states and finally legalize a truly HELPFUL psychiatric drug. Doc.