Therapy is like, the best! ^_^

[Violet]

I really didn't know what to expect of a therapist recommended to me by my gay nurse fairy... but my elder brother had set me up an appointment with her, and then conveniently not informed me he'd done so until the evening of the day before the appointment. Which left just about zero time to reset one's circadian rhythm, and just a few hours to catch up on one's beauty sleep.

Naturally, I stayed awake nearly all night, tense and stressed-like. Managed to get myself a 1.5 hour power nap at ~05:00 (had to be there by 11:00, and had to catch the first bus in a long transit at 08:00)... took a quick cold shower to better wake up, put a bit of base onto my fugly face, grabbed a bagel, and ran naked through the streets wearing a fedora to catch the bus (which was late).*

*statement may or may not be only partially true. I would never wear a fedora, and it was an english muffin (toasted and buttered).

So, me and the girlfriend (she came with me (^_^)) get to the building about 50 minutes early, through the miracle of transportation being perfectly lined up. Which is great, because the as-of-yet unmentioned coffee was giving me horrible indigestion, and we got to eat "lunch" (which somehow just made it worse, as grease is wont to do). We somehow cross a busy road without taking a ride to the magic kingdom in the sky. Twice, we were very lucky... or was it... God's will? hock:

Girlfriend is all, 'where is this damn joint', because that's what trying to find hidden offices in the hood under blazing texas sun does to people. But by some wonder of the self-evidently supernatural variety (blessed, I'm tellin ya): we discover the office, which looked suspiciously like a hippy hookah den full of gaudy stolen gold, but which smelled like incense and frankenstein. Someone may or may not have died, I heard disembodied screaming... like thousands of imprisoned persons buried alive.



Kind of like that, but with a lot more dirt and a few more adorable earthworms.

Anyhow, I filled out the questionnaire, and my girlfriend was getting a bit suspicious... so she pushed the button to "call the therapist" out, while at the same time gripping her quite illegally carried bazooka of blasting with frightening determination. I was afraid she'd blow her load, as one is wont to do in the base of a hippy mob safehouse. SPROING, went the jack in the box, flinging the coffee table into distant conservativeland's statue of monopoly, and out came the bead-armed guards. Pew pew, went ashton's bazooka-which-was-really-a-laser, and all that remained was "The Therapist". I took her into her lounge for questioning.

So we were like 'yadda', and 'yadda', I decided to try being actually like, mostly open, for a change (but not all the way open, because I like my innards kind of... inside me. I'd say I don't have the guts, but the reality is that I don't want to lose my guts, cuz I'm just so gutsy). She told me to stop beating myself up, because I was bruising my meat in her office.

She was pretty cool... lesbian, middle aged (but totally didn't look it), with a lot of existentialistic background and shit... and very understanding of schizophrenia. Ultimately, she says her rule of 'crazy' is that the insane don't know it, and that I'm really managing it very well, considering I'm looking forward to going back in about a month, and keeping a journal in the meantime. Not of my "life"... but... of my life. It's an interesting thing to... look at when I'm done writing something.

I've got three projects to work on, and being able to actually do something about them is... good. No more putting in a shit ton of work with nothing to show for it, I say. Mel's editing of my base-lines has shown me that I can do this... perhaps not entirely by myself... but what I do is good. If keep putting things off because they're not good enough... then nothing will ever be good enough. Hope it was interesting