![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
with teeth
Aug. 18th, 2014 07:09 pmDAY TWELVE: we want to see your teeth today
What the ever loving hell? My teeth are fine but I am disinclined to post a photo of them.
We're going to go with metaphorical teeth instead.
Today I went to see a therapist. Because underneath I'm hanging on by my fingertips, because there is this mix of grief and rage and depression like acid on my bones. Because something happened last week that was not the worst thing in the world or even the worst thing to ever happen in that bar but I woke up so full of shame I wanted to die from it.
It has been over a decade since I cut myself or otherwise hurt myself to deal with my emotions. But the urge is strong. I know I'm seriously depressed because my appetite is gone. That's a really, really bad sign for me. I'm never not interested in food. Except now and I've had to start forcing myself to eat meals so I don't lose my mind.
But I don't really want to die. I don't. I don't want to hurt anyone else, so that also rules out hurting myself. So. Therapy it is then.
I got really lucky right off the bat. (Thanks in large part to Mike for doing the initial work of finding therapists in the area.) The guy I met with today is easy to talk with, inquisitive, thoughtful and not from here. He's not the granola hippie Buddhist type that 90% of therapists here are either. (Buddhists are lovely people and hippies are too but no. Just no. That frame of mind is not going to help me.) He doesn't seem afraid, which was a problem with the last therapist I saw a few years ago.
So that's where I am.
Really if you want to help, ask me if I've gone to the gym. Because that's my homework. Gym. Or find me a magic robot maid because I can't be fucked about cleaning the house.
( For all the other days )
What the ever loving hell? My teeth are fine but I am disinclined to post a photo of them.
We're going to go with metaphorical teeth instead.
Today I went to see a therapist. Because underneath I'm hanging on by my fingertips, because there is this mix of grief and rage and depression like acid on my bones. Because something happened last week that was not the worst thing in the world or even the worst thing to ever happen in that bar but I woke up so full of shame I wanted to die from it.
It has been over a decade since I cut myself or otherwise hurt myself to deal with my emotions. But the urge is strong. I know I'm seriously depressed because my appetite is gone. That's a really, really bad sign for me. I'm never not interested in food. Except now and I've had to start forcing myself to eat meals so I don't lose my mind.
But I don't really want to die. I don't. I don't want to hurt anyone else, so that also rules out hurting myself. So. Therapy it is then.
I got really lucky right off the bat. (Thanks in large part to Mike for doing the initial work of finding therapists in the area.) The guy I met with today is easy to talk with, inquisitive, thoughtful and not from here. He's not the granola hippie Buddhist type that 90% of therapists here are either. (Buddhists are lovely people and hippies are too but no. Just no. That frame of mind is not going to help me.) He doesn't seem afraid, which was a problem with the last therapist I saw a few years ago.
So that's where I am.
Really if you want to help, ask me if I've gone to the gym. Because that's my homework. Gym. Or find me a magic robot maid because I can't be fucked about cleaning the house.
( For all the other days )