* My mother. I don't want to have to think about dealing with her, or avoiding her, or the fact that she will continue to do the same bullshit over and over and I will never escape.
*My friends - or the story of why I always feel awkward. I never feel like I can talk about everything because I'm screwed up and don't want to bring the conversation down.
*The pain. I don't want to think that in two more months I have to try different things to see if they help the pain.
*The muscle pain. The fact that my back is killing me. Let's ignore that.
*The picking. Let's not talk about how I'm picking again and I'm over stressed and feel like I've lost control.
*The cleaning. My house is a little cleaner. My bed is made. My bathroom is clean. I did a little dusting. But there is so much more to do. The sorting and the organizing and the crap that causes muscle pain.
*The dancing. Let's not talk about how I can't, and how I have no idea when I'll be able to again.
*The strange lesions that have returned. FUCK YOU, LESIONS, FUCK YOU. Something I should probably see a doctor for, but I'm boycotting doctors - except for my therapist. Because I clearly need a week in therapy boot-camp.
*Feeling like I don't belong anywhere.
Excuse the dust, my inability to be polite showed up - Last week the girls an I visited Disneyland to celebrate Marlo’s ninth birthday (this whole thing happened NINE YEARS AGO) and yes, while I was very busy s...
2 days ago