|
8:25 p.m. - October 22, 2002 My therapist suggests I am depressed and I sit there thinking You are far from brilliant but despite my apathy and disinterest in her, I remain because (a) I want to be better and (b) She is one of the few people with whom I intereact regularly. Currently I'm craving interaction yet pulling away further than normal, even by my own standards. Inside my house, it is quiet, one light is on, and I have my books, my writing project, and my music a la Simon & Garfunkel but unlike the music, this is ambulatory reality and not a song. I'm reading more than usual; poetry and a novel, the newspaper, CNN, MSNBC, Diaryland. I'm restless, seeking something. I seek company. It's easy to veer from statements towards drama and as much as I despise myself for being this way, this is how I am. I'm really afraid I'm falling apart. Do you know what that feels like? It's like forgetting the way somewhere and you know you remembered the route well before, yesterday, the months and years and minutes and seconds preceding now, when you're not sure where you are. Tomorrow I will spend time outside walking and breathing and not rush to nowhere.
|