Mid Morning Ramble 

Dear Doc, 

I was happy to hear that you changed your mind about me seeing the intern. I guess I may be a bit complicated for his skill level, in light of my current medication issues. Honestly, I’d think you’d been reading this journal if I didn’t know better. In any case, it is good to know that you are paying attention. You are a good shepherd, Doc. 

My head is splitting this morning, in more ways than one. I’m trying to remain calm as I wait for the headache to go away, even though I am anything but calm. I have to finish my house today. There are only a few simple tasks remaining, but I simply cannot get my head around them. I have no focus, but I’m going to find focus today if it’s the last thing I do. And I’m not going to grieve today. Mourning Bennie has occupied half of my time in recent months. Especially in recent months. I can’t say his name without crying. So, I’m going to stop crying today. He’s been gone 2 1/2 years. I shouldn’t still miss him this much. Actually, I shouldn’t miss him at all. He was cruel and mean and he didn’t love me anymore. Even so, his death has taken me to all new lows. Maybe I should talk to you about that, but I figured you’d say to basically move on. I wish I could, Doc. But I still feel his freezing, swollen, hand in mine as he lay on his deathbed. God I wish I could forget… 

I’m so tired of living this solitary life. My son’s band has a gig in Louisiana this weekend. It’s a big one. And I can’t go. I can’t go to my niece’s wedding, either. I had to go into the post office the other day. The lady at the window asked if I was OK, as I was shaking and sweating and almost in tears over mailing a fucking letter. This tiny life is killing me. You know what people said about me before…when I was normal? They’d tell me I was larger than life…that I was a force of Nature. Things like that. Now, those people have all gone and I am alone and afraid to go in and buy postage for a letter. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, I suppose. I’d do street drugs if I thought they’d help. Drinking makes me feel better, but I’m still housebound since I refuse to drink and drive. Whatever. I’ve got to get beyond all of this. 

Speaking of driving… I’m finally getting my taste for speed back! I was on the way to town the other day when I looked at my speedometer and saw I was doing 85. So, I hit the gas! It was exhilarating, just like it was before. Plus, Maxine needs to be driven hard to keep her engine in shape. So driving fast is actually productive lol! Mostly, it makes me feel alive in a particular way that I can’t describe. It’s been months since I ventured over the speed limit. I don’t know why. I’ve bitched out of countless street races, with one person in particular. He drives a souped up Camaro. This guy will turn around in the road to chase me down for a race. I always stay in the slow lane. He always laughs and hauls ass. But next time, I’m gonna show his young ass how us old ladies get down. He’ll definitely take me off the jump, but he won’t win the race. That much, I know. Then we’ll see who’s laughing Lololol! OMG! Just thinking of racing that prick makes me feel…amazing! 

We were supposed to get some rain today, but the Sun seems to have won the morning. I’m not one for sunny days, Doc. Never have been. I love my grey days. I feel as though they suit me quite well, as I am never really sunny, inside. Normally, my insides…my heart…has a vantablack feel. There is no recognition of the light. But, at times, I do manage to rise to the hue of a dark grey inside. So, it’s nice to see that the world, in general, matches my insides. Sort of like a new dress. Speaking of which: I’ve managed to starve off a few pounds and my clothes fit a little better. I haven’t eaten this morning, and don’t intend to eat until lunch, or later. Honestly, if I have to eat another salad, I’m going to scream! But, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, Doc. I’ve never been a good dieter, as you know. In my book, if you’re not about to pass out from hunger, you don’t need to eat. That thinking may be a bit flawed, but drastic times call for drastic measures. I want to lose a hundred pounds and get back to my normal fatness. I have no desire to be thin, as I found that being bigger makes me feel so powerful. I don’t know why, but that’s how it is. I’ve even been thinking of taking a man slave. If J. doesn’t want me, I don’t want a regular relationship. Mistress/slave would suit me perfectly as a stand-in. It’s so much about negotiation and trust…so literal and honest. Love is not even a factor. It’s just easy and enjoyable and I miss that part of my life. I know that I’ve never discussed it with you. I don’t want to be labeled a deviant, because I don’t consider my preferences to be deviant. Consenting adults, Doc. That’s the name of the game, as I see it. Anyway, I need someone in my life. I’m tired of being so alone. It’s a difficult way to exist if it isn’t your preference. It was never mine. I fully expected to have a happy home full of friends, family, and grandchildren by now. This PTSD bullshit…I never saw it coming. Nor did I ever dream I’d be agoraphobic. Or any of the other things that isolate me to this extreme. Of course I never envisioned Bennie becoming an abusive drug addict, or that he’d cause us to lose everything…or that he’d die. Yep…before my first meltdown, I had a plan that was unfolding beautifully. Then, it was like someone flipped a switch, and my beautifully well orchestrated life was over. Go figure. 

Wow, this has been quite the ramble, Doc. You see what I mean when I say I could never afford to tell you everything. There is just so much. I try not to look back because it feels like I’m looking up at a mountain that’s about to fall on top of me. I guess that my life has been a bit much for an intern to be able to get a grasp on. It’s funny how I spent so many years just smiling through it, hoping things would change. But I never dreamed that I’d be the one that changed so very much that I’d shut the whole damn thing down. Life is sneaky like that, Doc. You think you are in control of it, then it knocks you on your ass and shows you who’s really in charge. 

Well, I’m going to get started. Have a lovely day, Doc. 


A Morning Rant

Dear Doc,

It’s a lovely morning here, in Mayberry. The sun casts its golden hue upon all things within my view. I am fortunate to live here in my tiny house, dwarfed by the trees that surround it. Even so, as my gaze falls upon such beauty, my heart refuses to see it. I feel dark inside, always; never quite able to claw my way up the mountain, as it were. I can count on one hand the times I’ve felt any other way in the last year, or two. Perhaps it’s just my way…I’m not made to be shiny and happy. Some of us simply aren’t a good fit for the Happy Suit, Doc, and no amount of medication is going to change that.

Speaking of medication: I should tell you that I’m totally off meds right now. My pain level is ridiculous and I had to make a choice between head meds and pain meds. The pain meds won out this time. I’m very tired of living with physical pain, but it isn’t going away any time soon, as far as I can see. I’m exhausted by it on a daily basis. It grinds away at my last good nerve until I want to scream from the frustration of it all. Between physical and mental exhaustion, I am as low-functioning as I can be, I think. My mind is so scattered…no focus at all. My body is a pain machine with no relief in sight. My mother tells me that I should take to my bed for a day or so, until I feel better. If I did that, I’d never leave my bed. Besides, I’m not one for ‘taking to my bed’. I want to do things. I want to be normal in every way. I hate myself for being the way that I am and I know that there is only one way out. I’m just not sure that I’ll ever truly embrace that option in the same way I once did.

Doc, I’m having reservations about speaking with your intern. I can’t imagine what you think he’d gain from doing a session with me. It is fair to say that I have no patience for snot nosed med students. They tend to come from privileged backgrounds and that simply irritates the fuck out of me. Some uppity rich kid studying me like I’m his personal frog to dissect does not make me feel very…something. Oh…Kind. It doesn’t lend itself to kindness on my part. So, I hope your intern is wearing his big-boy pants because he’s going to need them. I mean, seriously, has he never dealt with a person whose life has been wrecked by other people? Is he so sheltered that he cannot imagine what such a person might be like? And, you…what makes you think I have so much to offer? Am I your worst patient? Are you that uppity rick kid run amok? If you ask me, your intern should go hang out at a real bar and chat up some of its patrons. Maybe he just needs to live the low-life for a minute. Then, he’ll understand ‘people like me’. I’m not unique in any way. I’m no victim, but I have been victimized. I’m not a predator, but I will prey upon the ego of someone who is self centered. And, I’m no bully, but I will advance on anyone who looks at me as though I’m some helpless, pitiful creature.

Forgive me if I sound a bit hostile this morning. Hostility is my go-to when I’m exceedingly frustrated. I also started my period today. I thought those days were over for me, but I think that having a man in my life, even though he’s just a friend, is affecting me hormonally. In any case, I’m not pleased with this new development. I was enjoying the benefit of only having a period every few months. It seemed like a reward for all of the hot flashes. I have looked forward to menopause for decades now, only because you aren’t supposed to have a period. Now, for the second consecutive month, I’m having one. It just doesn’t seem fair. I spend half of my time in front of the air conditioner because I literally have lava running through my veins. Perhaps I’m not bipolar at all. Maybe I’m Menopolar. Hmmm?

I suppose I should go now. This house isn’t going to clean itself. I hope you have a great day, Doc. And I hope that you gave much consideration when picking me to visit with your intern.



Oh, Lawdy!

Dear Doc,

I hope you have enjoyed your holiday weekend. I’m sure it’s nice to have a few days during which you aren’t required to listen to the likes of me. In any case, I am writing, per the norm, because I’m not okay. However, by the standards of most of the ‘crazy’ community, I ain’t doin’ too bad.

The thing is, Doc…I can’t sleep. More specifically, I do not want to sleep. Every time my eyes close, I am drawn into a terrorscape and I have no wish to return there tonight. I have lots that I can do, as my tiny house is completely torn apart in the wake of my redecorating binge. I don’t even know why I bothered. I am alone, and I live a solitary life. There are no parties here…no visitors. Even my love wants nothing to do with me. I hate this, Doc. I feel as though I’m being punished because I’m imperfect. My body is fat and chronic pain keeps me mostly in place almost all of the time now. I’m just tired, Doc. I’m so tired of this life.

My grandfather turned 94 today. I did not phone him, as he is in the old folk’s home now. He doesn’t remember who I am and, when I try to talk to him, I can tell that some part of him knows that he should know me. He gets frustrated and embarrassed. I thought I’d spare him that on his birthday. I miss him, though. I miss my hero and the man who saved me from so much pain. Were it not for him, Doc, I think my grandmother would have killed me, eventually. I have a lot of trouble accepting that. I have trouble accepting a lot of things, as I hate the idea that I was a victim. I refuse it…that title. It disgusts me to no end. So, I try to only recall my defiance…my strength in fighting off my enemy. I think of myself as a tiny lil soldier girl and my grandmother was my worst enemy. And I offered her no quarter, no screams and no tears. The day she came to fear me was the best day of my life. Yes, I am bitter. I am angry. But, as you said…sometimes you just have to let it go. And, so, I am. In my own way. Mostly, by eating my feelings. But, whatever works, right?

OMG…I’m just rambling about nothing tonight, Doc. I feel wholly discombobulated and off center. I’m so tired that I’m numb, yet my mind races and rages. I can’t seem to catch hold of any real thought. I suppose I’ll go now…for now. It’s high time that I get busy on my kitchen. So much to put away after moving everything about.

Thanks for ‘listening’, Doc.


Always, The Thunder 

I’m everyone’s rainy day

Even when I’m sunny

There’s a lil touch of grey

And, always, the thunder

In my head

My heart

My soul

As hard as I try

It won’t let me go

There aren’t enough pills to cure it

All I can do is endure it

As everyone who ever mattered to me


Dear Doc, 

I hope you are having a lovely evening. I’m looking forward to viewing a new creation of yours when I see you on Wednesday. 

I suppose you already know that I’m unwell. I’m not as certain that I’ve been wholly truthful with you. I’m having…have been having…treacherous mood swings on a daily basis for some time now. They occur every couple of months and linger for two to three weeks. Sometimes, they occur more frequently, continuing for only a few days. These mood swings are the worst I’ve ever had and they relentlessly go on throughout the day. I can’t live this way; highest high for an hour, to be followed by the most soul crushing low. I just can’t take it anymore. 

I’ve been drinking rather heavily lately. It’s all that will calm me…numb me. I drink beer in the mornings, whiskey in the afternoon and evening. Then, I have peace. Only I’m not alive then, as I can’t feel a thing. 

I am hopeful that you can pull a magic pill out of your pocket, or from behind my ear, perhaps. You know…the way a magician does. Wouldn’t that be delightful?!?  Ah, were life that easy… 

I’m going now, Doc. I’ll see you Wednesday and I’ll tell you the truth this trip. Remember, doc, nothing is ever as it seems. 


Cha Ching! 

Dear Doc, 

I’m lost today. Thanks for the early app you made for me next week. I need you. (Dear gawd, I actually NEED a shrink…).  So much shit has broken loose in my head and you’re the only one who can help. That’s just the way it is, I guess. 

Where are my manners? I should say that I hope you’re well and happy, as always. Thank you, again, for the lil treasure you gave me. It means a lot to me. 

I’ve been having problems with spending. Compulsive, obsessive…I just can’t stop. I’ve been spending as much as five hundred a week on things I don’t even need. It’s not a lot of money to you, I’m sure, but it’s breaking the bank for me. It would be a lot more were I not hanging on to being able to stop myself. I tranq out and, when I wake up, there is a bit of a reprieve. 

I just feel so high when I’m spending. I spent six hundred today. My heart was beating out of my chest with excitement, as I found the perfect euro shams and curtains for my tiny bedroom. However, as soon as I paid for it, I had to vomit. I haven’t thrown up in ages. I felt like a piece of shit because I’m spending money I need for my future. And, if I’m just gonna blow it, there are homeless folk who’d certainly make good use of it. So much guilt and shame is in my gut that I can’t stand it. I need your help, Doc. 

I guess I should go. That whiskey on the table ain’t gonna drink itself. That’s all that holds my feet to the floor lately. Something else we might ought to discuss… 

Adios, Doc 

Med Break 

Dear Doc, 

I’m tired this evening. Tired on many levels. I hope you’re enjoying your vacation. I’m sorry to have bothered you with that email. I’ll book when I can afford a session. I can live with the issue…I just don’t want to. 

I’ve been purging a lot lately. I can’t throw up anymore, so it’s laxatives and fluid pills. Some days, it seems as though I spend half my time in the bathroom. I’m obsessed with how fat I am. It’s funny because, when I was thin, I saw the same woman in the mirror. She’ll never go away, no matter how much I purge. I think I’m really trying to purge my system of her more than of food. If she wasn’t constantly looking over my shoulder, I probably wouldn’t hate myself so much. 

I’ve been so tired lately. It’s the fibro and the pain meds. Even with them, my pain level is a constant 7-10. God, I’m so tired of pain… I’m trying to get my lil house decorated. Well, redecorated. It’s taking me forever because I’m just exhausted. Sleep is a nightmare, as well. No pun intended. 

I’m so sick of being alone, Doc. Sometimes I walk around this lil house and try to picture a man here. Honestly, I can’t see it. I’m aging out of the dating scene. I say that as though it matters, considering that I can barely leave my front door. 

It’s a new morning now. I’ve decided to take a break from my meds. I need to live in my own mind today, not in some lab created idea of who I ought to be. The build up is always outmatched by the disappointing failure of meds over mind. Some things can’t be fixed, they can only be tinkered with…muted. Just because you hush something up does not mean it no longer has a voice, Doc. I’m reminded of that every evening when, in spite of my meds, I find that my day has been a failure. I look back, from morning to night, and I see that my best efforts have left me on the sidelines, once again. The circus still rolled through town, albeit in silence. Suffice to say that I was not the ring master, nor was I an enthusiastic observer; I was more of a stray bit of confetti, blowing about, lost to the breeze. 


Dear Doc, 

Feeling dead today. Dead inside. Discombobulated because it seems as though my flesh should be rotting by now. But, I don’t really have the nerve to make my outsides match my insides, now, do I? 

I miss my husband. I don’t care that he was mean. I can be mean too. Especially when fucked with, even in the slightest. Lately, I have the temperament of a Diamond Back. I keep it in check as much as possible, but I’m tired of trying to be nice. For the last two days, I’ve cried as much as I haven’t. I can’t stop. Gut wrenching, heaving, mournful crying. If this doesn’t stop, I’m certain I’ll drown in my own tears. 

I do have the strangest sensation that I’m dead and I’m simply hovering around, watching and experiencing what killed me, over and over and over again. WTF is that about, Doc? You gotta pill for that? If ya do, script me and make it a double, please. 

I got approved by Social Security. The letter arrived yesterday. The judge basically said I’m too fat and crazy to work. It’s humiliating to be officially recognized as a wack job. I feel icky and disgusted with myself…my mind. Fucking idiot brain. I hate the feeling that I’m short circuiting every time I encounter a fellow human. I hate how much I want to die. I hate that I can’t pull the fucking trigger. Maybe, one day, it’ll happen. For now, I’m just here; A genuine, certified, nut who writes to her doc knowing he’ll never read what she’s written. Then again, that’s one of the points of this exercise… 

It is best that you know me for the smiling person that I can be, at times. I was fired as a patient by my last shrink. He said I made him sad. He was mostly upset because he kept pulling pills out of his hat, but none worked. It reminded of how you throw spaghetti at the wall to see if it’ll stick. Everything he threw at the wall made me aggressive and outwardly hostile. It was probably more hormone related than anything, but he just could not stop writing scripts. Each new one would be ‘much better than…’ what ever script I’d previously been on. Until, one day, he just gave up. I hope that you never give up on me, Doc. You seem to be made of very stout stuff. That’s not for nothing, considering the terrors you’ve helped others face. I don’t know how you do it. But I’m glad you do. 

I’m gonna go get in the shower. At least nobody can hear me crying in there. I need a break from this. I need a break from me. 

Adios, Doc 

Pain Days

Dear Doc,

It’s a lovely morning here, in Mayberry. All things within my view are drenched in white light. Platinum, even. It is the white-hot offering of a vengeful star. I am not one who enjoys these hot days. Not in the least. Even so, I cannot deny the beauty of the Summer sun and the many hues it offers; surprising me each morning as I gaze thru my window.

My body is hurting today, head to toe. I swear, even my hair hurts! This is what I call a ‘pain day’. Pain days come upon you like a lighting strike, pushing your pain level beyond what you think you can physically take. No amount of medication can shield you from this full-on assault when every nerve in your body has turned against you.

As far as living with severe chronic pain, I have to admit that I almost forget about it, at times. I’m so used to it…so used to living my life around it…that you might meet me and never imagine that anything’s wrong. I am fortunate enough to have been born with a high tolerance for pain of all sorts, but when your pain level is, on a normal day, 8-10, even a high tolerance cannot contain the emotional pain that it causes. Chronic pain is every bit as isolating as emotional pain. I think that, if I don’t seriously begin to take my physical pain more seriously, I’m not going to get better emotionally.

I feel sad this morning. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because my jaw is locked up, making it feel like someone punched me in the face a dozen times. Or, because it’s Thursday. Or because the fucking sun is shining. Who knows? I took my meds, but they don’t seem to be having much effect today. I think that I’m going to give myself a break and turn out all of the lights, draw the blinds, and sleep all day. I don’t want to face the day and I don’t want to deal with why. I have long since grown tired of trying to diagnose and determine the origin of every emotion. In the end, it doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m just a fucking nut with a pain problem and a pain problem. Both are invisible. Both defy me at every turn.

Well, that was my morning bitch and moan, my dearest Doc. I hope you can forgive me for dumping on you. I’d continue, but my hands keep freezing up and it’s already taken an hour to type this much. I guess you got lucky today!

Be blessed, Doc…

Livin’ On The Comedown

Dear Doc,

I’m going to assume that you are happy and well, per the usual. You seem like the type of man who is always happy, though I know that’s not true of anyone. Even so, I hope you are and that you are creating new art at this very moment.

How am I? Well, I’ve been manic for almost two weeks. More mixed, I suppose, as I have been having severe, albeit short lived, crushing depression. Then, next I know, I’m soaring again. It’s taken a toll on me physically. Only sleeping two hours, or less, a night does not require a bed, and I have been sleeping in my chair. My feet are swollen and I’m run down. I crashed night before last while talking to James. I was so upbeat, then I felt sort of a swirling sensation in that spot where your soul is said to be. Suddenly, I began to spiral downwards and had to get off of the phone, as my mood had gone from light to dark in minutes.

I saw my regular doc this morning. Actually, it was her PA, as my doc was busy witnessing the birth of her second grandchild. (I’m very excited for her. She’s truly a wonderful woman). The PA was quite concerned about all of the swelling, but very knowledgeable about bipolar disorder and understood how I found myself to be such a wreck.

I left the doc and started on the long trip home. I don’t even want to write about it, it was such a bad trip. I’m having trouble with road rage, again. I thought I’d finally left all of that behind me. I don’t like myself when I’m in that frame of mind. Honestly, I hate hurting others…frightening them, and whatsuch. But, when I’m enraged, I can’t even see their faces. When the same car cuts you off for the third time, it’s a lil bit off putting, to say the least. For me, it throws me into a blind rage. I am going to work extra hard on that. I know that I can control it, because I stopped it in the past. I’m not sure what’s bringing it out in me again, but I’m not going to take another trip till I get myself under control.

I feel happy this evening. Yesterday, James and I had a lil back and forth and I informed him that he needs to learn how to talk to me. I’m female. I’m not like him or his buddies. Even though we’re just friends, there are things I need to hear from him. He begged me to tell him what to say, and over the course of our argument, I realized that he truly had no idea. He’s so used to women groveling at his feet that he never really had to learn to talk to us. Well, I can’t accept that. I let him know that. Then I got a text from him. It said, “I love you. Goodnight.” My heart just melted and I texted back that I love him, too. We’re not in love, but just knowing that your dearest friend loves you means so much. It made my year, I think. It was so cute today, when we were texting and talking, he tried as hard as he could to talk about feelings and stuff. He’s such a lost puppy lol! It’s flattering that he is making an effort…that he doesn’t see me as one of his groupies. With all we’ve been through in the last year, I needed those words.

Well, Doc…I suppose I should wash my dishes and get my feet back up. I’ll definitely sleep tonight. I’m not feeling that mind blowing awesomeness that has permeated every night lately. I feel okay. Just okay. And, I think that’s one of the best feelings in the world.

G’night, Doc…

Just Another Manic Saturday…lalala…

…followed by Sunday…it ain’t no fun day….it’s a bitches better run day…lalalalaaaaaaaaaa….

Dear Doc,

I hope this morning finds you happy and well. I’m certain you’re in your studio, creating. I love my lil treasure and find it soothing to look at. I love the art you create; that ‘Scream’ you showed me was very good and very, very, funny. Mostly, what I notice about a great deal of your artwork is that it involves couples. It causes me to think that you have been happily in love in your lifetime. Viewing your work as I wait for my appointment, I am reminded of when I have been happily in love…content. It makes me quite happy to be afforded those memories in an artistic measure. So, thank you for that. I’m still trying to figure out the painting to the right of the door, though. Very interesting, that one…

Yesterday was a very ‘down’ day. Today, I’m a bit ‘up’. However, I am in a very foul mood. I think it can be summed up by saying that I’m just pissed off and mad about it. I don’t know why, don’t care. I just am. And, as I sit here in my angry chair, hacking away at this keyboard, I’m reminded of times when this was a long lasting state for me. I think the meds are working quite well, as I know, and am learning, how they affect me. I’m also working very hard to let go of the past and make good choices in my life, today. I don’t need to imagine jumping off a bridge, or crashing into a barrier to make myself feel better. I can be shiny and happy if I try hard enough. Right?

Later, the next morning:

Just as the day seemed as though it was taking an upturn, my son,  J, and I had an argument. He hurt my feelings so much that I decided to leave. I thought it made perfect sense to get in my car and drive to Houston. I got about fifty miles from here and my mission began to wane. It was hot, I was tired, and I did not have the will to go any further. So, I went to Tyler, instead. A friend, L, did my grocery shopping while I was there, so that made the trip seem valid. During the ninety minute trip home  from Tyler, feeling back to myself, I realized that none of it made sense. Who up and decides to make a three hundred mile trip in order to avoid having their feelings hurt? I felt silly, but still had the upper hand, as J was calling me constantly and I was not answering. Straight to voicemail=Power position! Yes, my inner idiot was in full play. Even so, I feel he deserved to worry about me, for a change. He treats me like I’m one of his homeboys and not like a mother. I don’t like it, never have. It’s time to change the dialogue he and I share. 911. ASAP. NOW!

I guess I should go now. It’s time to start my day. Feeling okay. I just want things to flow in a more peaceful way around here. I’m definitely getting too old to deal with much bullshit. So, I hope you have a lovely Sunday, Doc. I have learned so much in our last two sessions. Nothing I shouldn’t already have known. Except that I’m me, and I don’t know much about peace, I suppose. Thanks for everything, and I mean that sincerely.




Say what?!?! 

Dear Doc, 
Had a conversation with my attorney today. He has been going through my medical records. He said I have Major Depressive Disorder with psychotic features. Psychotic? Are you kidding me? What about me is psychotic and why did u hear this from a lawyer instead of you??? 
Look, I know that I’m forgetful and such, but I seriously doubt I’d forget a diagnosis like that. I am going to end up like my brother, aren’t I? OMG! I feel so scared right now I can see straight. I can’t live like him. That can’t be future me. OMG OMG OMG!!!!
There were other things the lawyer said that you never told me you knew about. I feel like I’ve gone insane! I don’t remember telling you those things. I never told anyone. Now a lawyer knows and, Monday, a judge and some assessor will know. OMG… I never even wanted you to know. 
I know you haven’t broken any laws or breached my right to privacy. I signed so they could get my records. I get that. But hearing it out loud is so shocking. I don’t know why. I just can’t stand it…what happened. And now, hearing it out loud… I can’t process it. At all. OMG I think I’m gonna die over this one. 

Day of the Dead

Good afternoon, Doc. I hope all is well with you, but I’m not feeling very well today. I’m a little angry about some side effects of my meds that you didn’t tell me about, but that’s a discussion for another day. Today, I realized that it’s been nearly eight hundred days since my husband died.

By all accounts, my husband, B, was a bastard. He was mean and addicted and nothing was ever good enough for him. I certainly wasn’t. But, I still loved him. I still love him. He was my homeboy, before anything else, and was since we were just kids. That doesn’t go away just because things went sideways a quarter century later. Today, as every day, I can feel his cold, dead, hand in my own. I recall, physically, how it felt to hold it. Every day, I see it…this rough, working man’s hand. It was greenish and swollen, but I held it, even so. I wish I never touched it, because it haunts me…that frozen touch kills me inside.

I mourn B, The pain of losing him is still fresh and relentless. Each morning, I look up and see his hat and I cry because it makes me feel that he’s both here, and gone, simultaneously. Everywhere I look, I am reminded of the happy times we shared. Memories of the bad times have been shoo’d away like flies on a pie. I try not to acknowledge the last years of our lives together. They were truly horrific. But, they do stick a finger in my eye, now and then. On days like this one, I look across the room and see him, in my mind’s eye. He is out of his mind on pills. The scenario plays out, further, as my gaze is firmly fixed on the spot where his chair once was. I am up and down, when he finally passes out. I’m checking on him every few minutes. I have to see if he’s still breathing. I move the gun he kept near him, for when I talked too damn much during his shows. He’s always cold, so I cover him with a blanket, then I return to my post…and, I watch.

I’m so tired of missing him. I’m tired of the weight of him on my shoulders, after all this time has passed. But, I can’t let him go. I just can’t. Though I know he’s never coming back, I still expect to see him when I wake each morning.

During out last session, I shared with you that I have had suicidal thoughts for as far back as memory serves me. You noted that I always found a reason not to do it. You were smiling, as though you discovered a truth that I had not noticed. But, I have noticed it, and I’m agitated by it. Yes, I have people in my life that I don’t want to suffer a loss, but their feelings are growing ever closer to the Number 2 spot on my list. I don’t know how to tell you how I feel. I’m sure that you’ve heard it all before. Yet, the thought of it pulls at my skirt like an impatient child…