I was doing well in terms of sticking to my bi-weekly writing schedule. Putting my mind to something and being responsible to myself became a nurturing routine. Then October came and I lost the plot.
It’s the appointments: dentists, gastros, perios, shrinks. They all happen to fall within a few weeks, some of them up to three times. I know they’re all there to help me, but I’ve had a frustrating and difficult history with most medical professionals. At this point, I simply wouldn’t have the patience to sit in a waiting room if it weren’t for Heather there to support me every time. At least I found a competent psychiatrist; the first one who’s ever truly listened to me before prescribing any medication1.
- One of the most important questions he asked was whether or not the hospital followed up with me after my suicide attempt. The answer, of course, being a resounding NOPE. [↩]