It’s been a particularly trying week. I’ve been feeling so jaded. Broken. Helpless. Undefined.
Both the cause and the consequence is that I’ve been sleeping terribly lately. Next week I’m going to try to have a more self-control and stay on a strict schedule. Bring some order into my life.
I tried to make an appointment with my therapist, since I have $300 mental health coverage with my work per calendar year (although this only amounts to two sessions). Unfortunately, I need a referral from my family doctor to claim the coverage, because referrals are only good for one year, and it’s been that long since I saw him.
I think of how judgmental my dad was when I told him I was seeing a psychologist. But then I realize that he’s probably the only person I feel like I can really talk to right now (my therapist, not my dad). I wish I could talk to my friends, but my thoughts are either too embarrassing to admit to them, or too complicated for them to understand.
I’ve been listening to some quiet, sombre stuff lately. Trying to acquire a taste for Leonard Cohen’s middle years, when he traded in his guitar for horns and violins, even some Depeche Mode. Depeche Fucking Mode. It hasn’t been helping.
I just don’t know what to do with myself lately. But I’m pretty sure I really need to cry right now.