Still haven’t seen a therapist. Still having paranoia and the sleeping habits are getting weird again. I’m not even tired until about 2 or 3 and by that time I’m mentally strung out and having almost waking dreams. It sucks. It also leaves me little energy to do things around the house or to write or – you know – take a shower. Yeah, I know when my hair starts getting greasy I’ve got a problem. As vain as I am about the silver fox moniker, I cannot bring myself to wash it. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. Maybe that’ll happen before I try out the VA again.
Yeah, you heard me right. I’m going to the VA on Thursday to see if I can take it. I’m not sure if I’m testing myself or I’m honestly seeking help. Maybe I’m testing them. Whatever.
It’s like I forget how to people. I don’t want to be around anyone. When the sig-oth comes home, I fake it til I make it. I don’t want his company. But then I enjoy being around him. But all I really want is to be alone.
I mean, what can the VA do? Give me more medication? Take this feeling of defeat and that I am a fucked up waste of resources away? Sure. That’s why we read about all their success stories, right?
I have a psychiatrist who recommended I see a therapist. She even gave me some people to call. This means I’ve been making it on meds and the home-spun wisdom I created. Today I went to a therapist.
It took about 45 minutes for a 15 minute consultation to see if she was a good fit. I should have saved myself the time when I saw the rah-rah feel good decor in the lobby. Yeah, I know positive in creates positive output for lots of people. However, when it looks like someone’s grandma got a free shopping spree at Mardel’s – I’m out.
Let me saw that I am not opposed to God or church, but I’d like for that to stay in a religious environment. I am not looking to God to fix my anxiety. I don’t want to kumbaya the pain away. I’m looking for therapy and a therapist that doesn’t ask me to pray with her.
TLDR: Check out the therapist before you go. Anything less is a Rook mistake.
I’ve considered killing myself an uncountable number of times, but I remember the first and the last very well.
1st – I was sitting in the dirt, a rock cutting into my ass cheek, but I didn’t want to move. Feeling that bit of pain was somehow soothing. I was leaning on my ruck waiting to go home when new orders came through and we were diverted. And it came upon me quick that I could leave this shit one way or another.
Last – I’d moved back to my hometown after a business venture in Vancouver flopped. I was self-destructive, full of pity and self-hate. I felt like everything I’d done didn’t matter because I’d come back to the place I’d left to the same job. And I don’t know how my friend knew, but he did. Internally, I raged at myself for every moment I was awake. I hated everything and myself the most. And my friend made an appointment for me with the VA in Dallas. I don’t know if he knows it or not, but he saved my life.
It’s a struggle, people. Some days are good and some aren’t. But it’s worth it because things change. Circumstances change. Improvise, adapt, overcome. Tomorrow will be different.
Rook Riley: writer, game enthusiast, and all around linguistic bad ass