There are 5 empty toilet paper rolls sitting on the edge of my tub. That’s how long it’s been since I took a shower.
There are 3 or 4 newspapers wrapped in their plastic sleeves at the bottom of the driveway and more sitting, waiting inside on the kitchen table.
How many packs of cigarettes do I have left, before I will have to go and get more?
There are 682 e-mails in my inbox. How long did that take?
My mom died in September. When will I stop forgetting she is dead?
“I hate my life and want to die.” KC How many days have I said this?
I’ve been mostly dead for a month or so and I’m still mostly dead today.
Therapy is confusing and a waste of time. I’ve never felt like I was doing it right anyway. Every week he asks a few questions about my week then clams up and waits for me to say something. We’ve spent many hours sitting in mutual silence because there’s simply nothing in my head. I’ve read about Laura’s (SaveMeFromBPD) desire to have the “professionals” ask questions and direct the conversation. I agree with her. Seems like they would know better what would be helpful to discuss. Especially when you tell them there’s nothing in your head.
Last week I asked him about his job at the local hospital -he’s a social worker- and he got around to advanced directives. He said “You should make sure you have one.” I kinda nodded and he said “I think I know what you were just thinking.” “It won’t come to that.”
“You might miscalculate the dose.” (He knows my plan.) “I won’t.” Anyway.
I had an arthroscopy and debridement of a torn meniscus on Dec. 29th. A week later I was in the ER for IV antibiotics as it got infected (natch). Last Monday we went back to the OR for another arthroscopy and irrigation blah, blah, blah. Thankfully my sister and brother-in-law let me stay at their house for a few days after each surgery. But I found being upright and conversant to be too exhausting and now I’m home. That’s about it. Doc