"Hi, Marcy."
I'm hitting the wall again. Feeling dead. Have felt dead for years. My therapist asked me to tell her how I felt - to help her understand. So I told her I felt dead, and she suggested that I felt disconnected instead. No, pretty sure I meant what I said. Dead is permanent. Dead does not change. There is no hope in dead. Disconnected means that you can reconnect. I have spent years of trying. Thousands of dollars and hours of time in therapy. Dead.
I talked to her about it this morning, because I felt completely invalidated and angry. Don't ask me to tell you how I feel and then tell me I should feel like B instead of A. It only makes me more alone. She suggested that, since she has been unable to help me, I find a new therapist.
Ouch. Being abandoned one more time. Trusted someone, just to be let down and left crying in the gutter again. She backtracked pretty fast, saying that she was not giving up on me, but only meant someone else could be more help. She specializes in Borderline Personality Disorder. She sees suicidal people every day. And she doesn't think she can help me.
It's pretty sad that truly, the only thing keeping me alive is my little dog and her obstinate ways. If she didn't bite people and attack other dogs and pee on the floor, she'd have a new home and I would be gone. She was sleeping in a pile of dirty laundry when I left this morning and my heart just melted. I really love that little dog. She needs me. She is the only being on the planet that needs me.
Hi, I'm Marcy, and I am not mentally well. I slept for 11 hours last night and I'm sitting here falling asleep. I may have to give in and start taking anti-depressants again. I'd rather die. But then who would take care of Little Woof?
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Don't make me talk to myself, yo.