My hubby is doing security today for the Air Force Academy graduation here in Colorado Springs. He put on sunscreen before he left this morning, and now the house smells like an island oasis.
And Doritos. An island oasis mixed with Doritos.
Damn you Zan, for smelling so icky.
On an unrelated note, I get to go talk to a therapist. Yay. Apparently my regular doc thinks that suicidal ideation warrants a talk with a professional. I think it warrants a piece of pie. Chocolate cream, preferably. But, whatever.
Here, I'll elaborate. Mainly because I've decided that I don't really care what people think about me any more. I'm weird, I'm messed up, I believe strange things, and if you don't like it, then fuck you. Go away. I switched my meds up again - mainly because of the whole "suicidal ideation thing". And because I'm honest with how I feel, I get to go see a therapist. Which to me, is more depressing than depression. See, I don't have any family issues, no big secrets or skeletons in my closet causing me pain, no traumatic childhood.
Nope. So I don't see how a therapist will help. I'm not going to talk and spill my guts and feel magically better. Not going to happen. What will help is getting my brain chemistry balanced. And talking ain't gonna do that.
So I guess this was kinda a rant. Just a little frustrated at the moment.
And now I have to go to the gym and work off the chocolate pie.
No comments:
Post a Comment