What to do...What to do?!

Any minute now, my phone is going to ring. It will be the receptionist from my psychiatrist's office to remind me of my appointment tomorrow afternoon. I haven't seen him in quite some time.

I still don't know whether or not I should go.

On one hand, it would be nice for him to add a few refills to my Seroquel so I don't have to call and beg for it when I run out. He won't do that unless I see him face to face with an update.

On the other hand, I'm not okay. The deal with that is he'll ask me what I think we should do. WE. As if he's swallowing the pills right along with me and dealing with the thoughts running through my head constantly.

He's not a psychotherapist. He just hands out the pills.

So I don't know what to do.

I don't want to go through the whole weaning process if he decides to pull the Seroquel out from under me.

I don't want to go through the side-effects of adding something new to the Seroquel or in place of.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO.

I am so fucking tired of this game of round and round she goes...

It's all so unpredictably predictable.

I could spit nails today. Spit them right at you and pin you to the wall.

There's no feeling left on the outside.

My insides are catching up to that.