This is why I have a telephone

A bit ago I heard a sound I haven’t heard in quite some time: my phone rang.  But the real surprise was that it wasn’t a telemarketer.  Not only that, it was my therapist.  She never calls me.  Never.

Actually, she was the person I needed to talk to.

I told her lots of things.  This would include my immediate difficulty trying to take a shower because first of all, I hate my body and I can’t stand looking at it or touching it right now and I have bad feelings about my weight and shape.  Secondly, I do not want to die in the nude and have been afraid to spend any time naked whatsoever for fear that I will be “caught” in the nude and frozen in my death without clothes on.  For months, I have made two exceptions: shower, and weighing myself.

I told her a few other things besides that.  Just some stuff going on over the past weeks, months that I never told her, maybe no one ever found out the whole story, maybe I’m finally telling it now.  Secrets.

She asked  me if I was going to show up at my PCP appointment tomorrow.  I told her I was planning to cancel.  She told me I’d better show up.  So I will.

 

 

Basics on Tuesday night

Not in any particular order.

Shower.  Spend a lot of time sleeping.  Take Puzzle out.  There were a couple of other things but they don’t come to mind right now.  Then call the crisis team back and let them know I survived the past two hours okay and I’m still alive.  (Most of the time, when I reach out I get slapped.  Thankfully, when I called these guys just now, someone who gives a shit answered the phone.)

I slept all day today.  I slept just about all day yesterday.  Yesterday I dragged myself out of bed and went to therapy, came home and went back to bed and have been in bed ever since.

My head hurts.

Sunday I went to church.  I’m not going to make it to church next Sunday at this rate.