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The day of reckoning

October 30, 2009

I’m seeing the Psychiatrist later, after last week’s muck up.

I don’t know what to say, that hasn’t already been said. Whatever I say needs to keep me on Citalopram, but I don’t know how to say that really, things aren’t so great. Not awful, but not er, well. I had my first risk assessment in so long the other day, by the Psychologist Lady. I’d forgotten how uck they are, and how they try and break into the thoughts you don’t want to tell. All the notes are interdisciplinary, so I’ll soon have sold my life to him anyway.

I hate him. Hate is a strong word, and I hardly ever use it, but I actually dislike this man from the pit of my stomach.

I have to tell him about that highness I had; can’t wait. I got all prepared last week, and I’m sure I had good words to explain everything. Now, speaking and sentences are a struggle. I can’t remember words that express things the way I want to express things. I can explain in a monotone no humour added way, but that’s boring and not me. I want to happily lace my words with humour, bile or sarcasm, situation dependent.

I guess I should go to lectures really, instead of hiding in my room away from the world…

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