Caution. I think this is going to end up being what they call a triggering post on some of the interesting sites I've been to. As in...if you are sitting with your sharp object of choice right next to you, maybe you should skip this one.
The weekend stayed crap, although that was probably a given, after Friday nights stupidity and hysteria. I left a message on p-doc's office phone asking if I could have an appointment today (intended to reach his receptionists, not him). Sent him an email saying it was really not going great but that I didn't want to talk to stand-in. That was about 40 minutes before I phoned her anyway. The rest of the weekend was just numbness and post-sedative vacuum.
Saw t-doc this morning, had to confess to Fri, and that my parents are questioning where we go from here. As in, "now that you've spent another year being sea mud, shouldn't we try something else?" Subtext being : "given that we are basically paying your medical expenses plus more, we think you should be doing something different, and can use financial coercion to direct that". Part of what was boiling over on Fri was the question of what I'd do if it does come to that. Easy answer is that I will increase my mortgage(currently at 0), and that would cover docs and drugs for a couple of months. Unfortunately, that would also be the end of family peace and togetherness, so it's not quite so easy. T-doc said that she is more than happy that I look at all possibilities, including seeing someone else as well, and that if it came to that, she would write-off the costs. Which made me cry all day, but I couldn't do that to her.
And then I spent most of the day hoping that p-doc's office would call. Theoretically, he employs someone whose primary task is to call the 'shit list' (I think they call it something bland like 'daily phone check') and make sure that we aren't totally losing it, most days of the week. Didn't get that, didn't get appt. Too embarrassed to call again, because I'd end up just crying. And feeling really loathsome cos they didn't phone even after I left Fri night's miserable message.
So now am sitting with razor blade on the keyboard, just watching it. It is such an ugly, moronic thing to do, and I still don't really understand why I end up doing it. Other than as punishment for being such a totally unloveable bitch. And a loser. And a miserable asshole. Not that cutting helps with any of that. It just makes it more unlikely that I will ever get into a position where I get naked with someone, because it's inexplicable to anyone who doesn't do it. But somehow, once the really sore bit is past, just watching the blood run down my arm seems to bring some kind of calmness. Meditation through mutilation?
And in between t-doc this morning and now, I had coffee with duck-buddy for first time in about 3 weeks. She is also not doing well at all, so mostly we just sat and made cynical wisecracks about what losers we are. But it was good to see her anyway.
Then I went to catch and relocate what turned out to be a Cane Rat that was trapped in someones bathroom. They are rodent-type mammals, but weigh in at about 5 kg, and can get up to 60 cm long not counting the tail. And they have large teeth as well, and bad temperaments. Sometimes feeling nihilistic works well for rehab - you just couldn't care less anyway, so storming into a closed area to catch large biting things is easy. I mean hey, I wouldn't mind if it leaped up and ripped open my jugular, so why should I worry about it sinking its incisors into my sandal-clad foot? So...after netting him and taking him through to the centre, he seemed to be healthy enough, and was taken straight out to one of our release sites, a nature conservancy about 30 km's out of town. At least I did something constructive today.