I have to see the surgeon tomorrow. Tomorrow, I find out when and how and how badly and...
At least I hope. I hope. I hope and I don't hope.
Mom wanted me to have a list of questions. So I've had to be researching again. Instead of ignoring like I had been.
I thought I'd come to peace/grips with this.
I was wrong. I was so so wrong.
I need therapy. Tomorrow, when I'm done talking to the surgeon, I'm calling my GP and booking an appointment. I need better pain meds, and I need a therapist. I can't do this on my own.
This is the hardest thing I've had to admit. I am strong. I've rolled with so many punches over my life, and I keep going, but I can't do this. It seems so weak. But I just can't. I can't. I can't. I can't.
I'm trying to keep things together. But I haven't been constructive all week. Maybe two. It's all I can do to keep breathing. Dishes, chores, it's all just pointless to even think about.
I just hold to Flylady like a beacon, and pray and pray, and give myself all the slack I need.
My cats are fed. I am fed. My bills are paid, mostly on time. I go to work, and Cam is taken care of.
That is enough.
Right?
I wish I had the money to hire a cleaner. A cleaner, and one of those food delivering companies.
And maybe a day-nurse, to help bathe me. Oh god, how embarrassing is that?
I can braid my hair, even when it's dry now.
The snow is melting. It doesn't smell like spring yet, but if you just ignore that it nearly feels like it.
Joss is a god. I am so in love with Dollhouse.
I need to sleep. I packed my bag, I have my clothes layed out. I've been doing good turns for people.
I'm not a complete failure. |
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