So. I have been feeling better. Is it because I finally admitted things weren't all entirely peachy keen? (Who says peachy keen? Obviously me, every once in a while.) I went and saw my new therapist on Wednesday and I came in, sat on the sofa (a nice cushy living room sofa, not a Freud sofa), and promptly burst into tears. And then promptly apologized for it. Whoa, baby. Don't know where any of that came from.

I'm seeing him again on Monday. We'll see how it goes. Wednesday I was all headachey from the crying and the dealing with stuff; after swimming (which was so good, totally restorative, my body longed to be in the water and oh it was good) I went home and crashed into bed at 10:00 and slept and have been feeling oddly better since.

It may not be a cure, but I'll take the respite.

Last night I had the most disturbing dream that I was HIV positive and I took it as a complete and total death sentence. (It was a home test - I'm really glad they don't have those! Can you imagine being alone at home and getting that kind of news?) I was utterly racked and devastated, and I woke up convinced I was going to die. It took a full five minutes of slowly dawning full-fledged fucking relief that it was just a dream.

(Of course we're all gonna die, I just don't want to see it coming..)

The dream had some other weird elements that I don't entirely remember - something about how I was tallying up all the people I've been with whom I might have infected and ewwwwwwww my brother was one of them, and I don't know what the hell that means - and I know I snapped at my mom about how "I'll be fucking dead in ten years, so why bother?" and it was just this horrible pervasive sense of having lost all point in going on.

Bleak, eh?

(And lots more instances of fuck today. Wonder what that's about too.)

A brief check-in, this is turning out to be. I really do want to turn out a decent entry someday soon. But hey, I am getting paid to work, so work I shall do.