7:40 p.m. - November 22, 2004
We talked a little about my situation. Dr. Indy is doing research somewhere and cannot take on new (or returning, in my case) clients, so I am, or will be, adrift. Brad says he's working on referrals to therapists but I'm so mad and scared, angry even, and it serves me right. Hurt does not happen unless one is foolish and allows ingress and my head is pounding to the rhythm of stuu-pid, stuu-pid, stuu-pid. I know, the rational part knows things like this happen and I'm so sorry for him and his wife, but like a selfish bastard it's all about me, doesn't anybody want me at all? No reply necessary because I know the answer.
It is my fault for thinking therapy was a lifeline, a flicker in the dark and it was, it is, but I only have 3 more sessions and then I'm alone. Oh God I don't know what I'm going to do and I don't understand why I'm like this, hate with fire the who and why I am, wish I had - no more wishes, they are false hopes.
Just suck it up and smile, launch I'm fine mode. I don't want the phone to ring, I want the doorbell to chime and be honest when someone asks, How are you? It would be better were I to go to someone's door and say I need to talk, can you listen? But like with most things reality precludes such an action.
When I get like this I hold onto a stuffed animal and I feel pathetic and absolutely alone because that awareness I keep at bay rushes in like the tide and I can't deny how terrible I feel.